Katherine Rodgers Presents
by firsttimefan
Summary: AU: When star Katherine Rodgers leaves set to ask advice of a renowned lawyer, she doesn't anticipate Richard Beckett. She didn't think he would pack both of their bags and have them back in NYC only a day later to find her stepfather and save her mother. She's not sure her heart is ready for the onslaught of four Becketts. But then, December does funny things to people.
1. Chapter 1

**Standard Disclaimer. **

**...**

**Hey. It's been a while, but here's a little AU idea I had. Let me know what you think ;)**

…

The jump from the car to the sidewalk caught in her throat and dragged at her steps but before she could falter or adjust she had reached the sliding glass doors and passed through their boundaries and into their shelter. Almost to spite the relief of the sun, a shiver trembled down her spine as the AC made her nerves giggle.

Despite her time here, Kate couldn't reconcile the notion of air conditioning after Thanksgiving. Kate could have taken her pick of jackets to ward off the more zealous of the machines but couldn't bring herself to do it. She loved her array but it felt like heresy to wear them here in December and so she made do with holding back shivers. If she were back in New York it would go without saying; unless you wanted to die of exposure you mastered layers. Here in LA it pained her to cover up and take the sun for granted. Enjoy it while it lasted. It was better to have the sun and then freeze indoors than to wear a jacket and be no different than she would if she had never left home.

It was a stupid thing to be stubborn about.

She bypassed the bronze plaque and called the elevator. The cold seemed to emanate from the button on her finger as well as from the air and she drew her finger back quickly. She was developing such a thin skin here and it had only been a month. Maybe she needed to go back. This whole mess was proof enough she should never have left. Who said film was better than the stage?

Habitually she nodded as she stepped into the elevator, appreciative it was ready and waiting. The lighted panelling lit up with barely a caress and it rose smoothly. The whole building was efficient. Smooth. It made her uncomfortable and relieved at the same time. Kate appreciated efficiency, the order, but there was something ominous and foreboding lingering in all the small details. It was like walking into a castle. The air was oppressive as though she had a target on her back and the clean lines couldn't distract from the sense she wasn't welcome here.

Psychosomatic. Had to be. Kate tried to let the assent lull her nerves. There was something about elevators and planes taking off that she loved. Her stomach might not agree with her all the time, but her whole body thrilled at the momentum, to be going somewhere. There was a purpose, a destination. That was comforting.

The lighted scale had just skipped from ten to eleven when she yawned and had to blink back tears. She pulled her fingers back and checked them for traces of makeup but they were clear. The last thing she wanted was to get back and give her team another reason to grumble today. They had berated her for the full half hour she spent in her chair with them.

_What did she do to herself? _

_Why couldn't she sleep like a normal person? _

_What were they supposed to do with those bags and the red eyes? _

Finally Kevin had stepped in and ushered them out. He was sweet – something she wasn't used to. It seemed everyone in the business here in LA had an attitude. It was if everyone she had met in this city had taken personal offense at the stereotype of nice LA and decided to put forth their bid for LA as the egocentric capital. Personally she didn't see the problem with being labelled as nice people. You didn't see Canadians complaining, did you?

Kevin Ryan wasn't one of them. They didn't see much of each other. She literally couldn't – he was always hidden behind a camera crew, but when they got a chance to talk they appreciated a cool, dedicated work ethic untainted by ego that she found solace in.

This morning when he overheard her stylists he hadn't asked – had purposely explained the less he knew the better, for publicity reasons of course- but had recommended she make her way here during the long lunch he could schedule. She didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't what he thought.

_He's good at helping people when he wants to._ The laconic smile made for a backhanded compliment but she was tired. She wasn't sure how many more drunk phone calls she could handle. And if she never had another phone call like last night, it would be too soon. She needed help.

Her stomach twisted and she checked her phone again but there were no new messages. In the first comforting measure the building had attempted so far, it took pity on her stomach and slowed the elevator to a stop.

Running alongside the carpeted path to the welcoming desk was a glass wall. The interconnected panes a montage of the park. From this height looking down and out across the green gave her a quick shock of vertigo. Kate imagined that was probably a bonus here. How many people had walked the other way and took their last look at the sky? The borders of each window making the panoramic view were dark against the brilliant blue as if they were bars. The sky was already behind bars. As if to say, _I've already got you_.

It was getting harder to draw breath and her eyes pricked against the searing blue stretch of LA sky. From the left colour caught her attention and broke the hold and let her eyes refocus on her target.

'I have an appointment to see Mr Beckett," Kate greeted the receptionist, almost grateful for the vicious red combo of shirt and nails after the unending blue outside.

"Of course." The woman, Rebecca according to her name badge, smiles.

Rebecca scoots her chair back from her desk and leads the way down the hall on spindly heels Kate wouldn't consider wearing unless she had a desk job. The walls and doors cut off the view of the outside. Kate knows her nerves are shot when she goes from wishing there was an end to the sky to feeling edgy when it was out of sight. Her emotions have been playing hot potato for days. What did she think was going to happen? She chastised herself. It wasn't like it was going anywhere.

"It's quite a view," Rebecca smiled, noticing the last look Kate shoots over her shoulder.

"I don't know how you can take your eyes off it."

A little more warmth makes its way across her face. "It's not as hard as you might think. I feel like I need a sunglasses and I have Advil in my desk drawer at all times." Her confident stride falters and she nods at the simple label on the side of the door jamb.

Richard Beckett.

That was the name Ryan gave her. He wrote it hurriedly on her rewrite, waving off his assistant in handwriting that was barely legible. He helps people. That's what Ryan said, but Kate realised she knew the name – a lot of people did – and as far as she knew, the only way this man ever helped anyone was into a cell without a key. That didn't seem like the person she needed right now. Her hesitance must have shown on her face because he shrugged.

_ He's a pit bull._

She asked if that meant he was tenacious.

He smirked, blue eyes bright. _I mean he's vicious and ugly_.

The way Rebecca's spine was ramrod straight leant weight to Ryan's description. Kate watched her lick her lips a little apprehensively and draw in a breath.

"What's her name?" Kate hears from inside.

Rebecca moves into the doorway and Kate follows. She can make out the back of a coiffed set of elegant black ringlets standing in front of a desk and obscuring the speaker. Hanging from one hands looks like a sandwich. Subway she notes idly. There must be a store nearby – probably because of the high school.

"Nikki Heat," the woman answers her companion unaware of her audience. The voice sounds familiar.

The next words grumble out. "Sounds made up."

"It is," Kate admits. It isn't until the room's occupants turn to her in doorway that she realises she's spoken aloud. Rebecca looks at her, startled. The other woman in the office turns and Kate sees the man behind the desk for the first time. She barely registers a shock of sandy hair before the light eyes and thick eyebrows stop her. They're familiar- filled with the same speculation she sees a lot of when she walks into an audition. In both sets of eyes she can see the attempt to gage ephemeral qualities. How ditzy she is. Intelligence, pride, character.

This audience wasn't comparing her to her mother for a change; not expecting her to be the same or different. She has no idea what it is they might be searching for.

The awareness is almost stifling here, as if it was the epicentre for the creep in her spine as soon as she had stepped into the building. A woman is centremost in her field of vision and Kate lets the figure pull her attention, accepting the shapely hand and shaking firmly.

"Ms Heat," she smiles. "I'm Melanie Parish, we spoke earlier on the phone." Her grip matches the power suit, but Kate likes it. She appreciates the confidence and sass the woman radiates from her Louis Vuitton's to her glossy black curls. "I'm sorry we had to monopolise your break."

"On the contrary," Kate replies easily, allowing the familiarity of the process ease her stressed mind for a brief moment. Lately her life had been nothing but meeting new people, the smiling, the hand shaking, the air-kisses, the pleasantries. It was a highly plastic process she hated. She didn't get into the business to be fake. She wanted to be real. Kate finds she doesn't mind it, maybe for the security to be found in routine, or perhaps because Melanie Parish is so vivid and real.

"Is there anything you would like? Coffee?"

"No. Thank you."

Melanie nods at Rebecca, still hovering in the doorway and she disappears out of sight back up the corridor. The woman steps closer to usher Kate to a chair and only then does Kate realise even with the heels, Melanie is significantly shorter than herself. Kate follows and seats herself in a subtle leather armchair. She fights off the shiver that tickles at her when her bare legs make contact with the cold material.

Melanie stands at her three o'clock. "My partner," she offers and Kate lets her eyes flow across the dark wood desk to the man ensconced on the other side. "Richard Beckett."

They nod at each other and he stretches out a hand, practically swallowing hers. They're warm. The warmest thing in the building so far actually.

"If you'll excuse me," Melanie retreats and closes the door behind herself. They both watch her progress and fixate on the closed door for a second, acclimatizing to the change. The room seems larger and smaller, like the focus was lost and hadn't been reset yet so it hovered around the door, waiting for the small woman to come back and repossess it.

Melanie Parish would do well on the stage with a presence like that. Too bad she decided to use it in a courtroom.

When a throat clears behind her, Kate almost startles. She hadn't forgotten he was there, not really, more like he just let himself hover in the background. As she registers the width of his shoulders in the office chair and processes his physical size for the first time she is impressed at his ability to do so. It was quite a talent – kind of like hiding a gorilla. She snickers internally at the comparison.

Big. Male. Type A. Vicious Pit bull. Ugly. Maybe she's on to something.

Kate looks at his face for confirmation, swallows. Not ugly. Also not the older gentleman she had been picturing up until now. Somehow from Ryan's description she had pictured a crotchety, hard-ass old man. More like the scarred old lion of the courtroom. Richard Beckett was not old, or scarred.

"Ms Rodgers," he nods. Pleasant voice.

"Mr Beckett," she returns, unsurprised that he recognises her and more than a little relieved he hasn't tried to fawn over her. "You don't seem surprised."

"Were you in disguise?" he asks rhetorically. "What can I do for you?"

Kate casts her eyes over the full bookcase against the wall. There is a lot of light reflecting off golden words on thick spines – so many manuals and law books she's impressed the shelf can hold them all. "I wanted some advice on a legal matter."

He leans back into his chair and she notes the fingers of one hand absently worries at the leather on of the armrest. It strikes her as a lazy habit, not a stressed action, almost as if he were stroking a giant cat in his lap – or considering his job a Doberman's ears. "And your lawyer is…"

"I wanted someone unbiased."

One eyebrow quirks. "No lawyer is unbiased."

She can't help but smirk at that. "Is that an admission?"

His slips quirk lazily to one side in answer. "So," he expels. "Why my company?"

She shrugs. "I heard it was the best."

"Always nice to hear," he nods complacently. "Which little birdie has been spreading rumours this time?"

"A friend on set."

"Ah. You probably have quite a few of those. Nothing better in Hollywood than fresh imported meat," he rolls his eyes and sits forward to retrieve a cardboard cup. "Are you sure it wasn't for discretion? We don't take many private clients. You make the appointment under a fake name…" he takes a sip. "So what did you do?"

"Excuse me?"

"I see someone as renowned as you walking into a prosecutor's office and I ask myself, why is she here? If it were someone stalking you, you have people for that. You have people for everything – the studio would probably fall over themselves if you asked. It'd have to be something pretty big or embarrassing for you to be here and under a pseudonym."

"And you naturally assume I did something?"

"If you knew half of the stories about some of the celebrities in this town," he shakes his head, amused. "They only come to people like me when they don't want their own lawyers to know what happened." His eyes went hard. "When they want to make the world forget it ever happened. The overdoses, drunk driving, solicitation, affairs and blackmail. Ms Rodgers I am not a cleaning service. I will respect your confidentiality but that is the best I can do."

"Does that little speech come standard or do you just not like me?" Kate asks coldly, forcing the words through a tight throat. Who the hell did he think he was? Her palms itched but she kept them ruthlessly chained to her lap.

"I don't meet many good people in my line of work."

"You put people in jail," she pointed out.

"Yes, I do. You may understand why it's hard to give people the benefit of the doubt."

"You're a cynic," Kate accuses.

"Pays the bills," he sets the coffee cup down and eases the line of his shoulders, relaxing as if she had satisfied him somehow. "I apologise if I offended you."

Her eyebrow shoots up. "If?"

"That," he admits candidly. "I apologise that I offended you. It's quite refreshing to meet someone with principles."

"You're obviously in the wrong line of work," she advises, still internally fuming.

"Perhaps. Nevertheless here you are," he studies her. Kate stares him down easily. "Because…" he prompts.

A test. All of it was a damn test. He may have apologised for offending her, but he obviously had no qualms about deliberately pushing at her buttons. It was a crude and arrogant power play. She was half-tempted to get up and walk out but that was probably what he wanted.

_He's good at helping people_.

Yeah, she shoots back at the memory, if he wants to and they don't shoot him first. Kate eyes the man on the other side of the desk, mentally weighing up the need for help against the desire to walk out of this office and pretend she had never heard of Richard Beckett. He didn't avoid her eyes, just stared back unflinching and all too aware she was doing a little testing of her own.

He's young, she thought almost in surprise. When he spoke the animation and affectations lent him towards a much older, short tempered man but sheltered in his chair silently, the light from his windows reaching over the back of his chair to touch the top of his head, he looked young. There were laugh lines as well as frown lines. He can't be that much older than me, Kate guessed.

He blinked and she finds herself mirroring him through an involuntary rapport.

"My mother," she sucks in a breath to steady herself and bottle it all away. "My mother remarried in October. They spent two weeks in Florida for their honeymoon. It was all the time she could get before her new show started. Two nights after they got back to New York, he emptied all their accounts and disappeared."

He doesn't move, just keeps his eyes focused on her. If they weren't so intent on what she was saying, it would be creepy. She's not used to so much direct unapologetic eye contact from people she doesn't know. He's obviously waiting for her to continue, but she doesn't. There's nothing left to tell.

"And?"

"And she needs help," Kate answers. Her mother is falling to pieces away on her tour and it scares her. Kate can't do anything about it other than take her mother's drunk incoming calls at odd hours of the morning and listen to her cry or rant.

"You want to sue him. Get her money back," he guesses.

"No," she shakes her head. He stares. "Well, yes," she cocks her head. What does she want? "I think she needs closure more than she needs the money back. The last thing I want is for her to end up in some public legal battle with her pain for all to see."

He nods. "Quick and quiet. "

"Like you said,' she says. "Discretion."

"I'll need the contact details of his lawyer," he sits forward and picks up a biro from his blotter.

He's reaching for a drawer when she interrupts. "What lawyer?"

He opens the polished mahogany and rummages, coming out with a post-it pad. As he glances cursorily at the top note and rips it off he asks, "What do you mean, what lawyer? Your stepfather's."

"He doesn't have one."

He looks up. "What, is he a lawyer?"

"No. I don't know where he is."

Richard stops palms still pressed together as if in prayer with the now crumpled pall of post-it paper trapped. "Excuse me?"

"My step-father. No one knows where he is. He disappeared."

Richard frowns and transfers the ball of paper to his left hand where he starts rolling it absently with his thumb around his palm like a race track. "What's the name of the Detective in charge of the case?"

"There isn't one."

"You didn't call the police? "

"The fewer people who knew about it the better. First-hand experience has taught my family how easily the press loosens lips. Inside sources, scoops."

Kate recognised a locked down face when she saw one. "When did he leave?"

"November 11th."

"Your step-father leaves with her life savings almost a month ago and no one called the police?" he shakes his head and pushes himself out of his chair in favour of the glass wall. He's silent for almost a minute, backlit by the midday sun. Kate imagines his eyes are resting on the green of the park across the road or watching tiny cars run down the street so far below. "Why did you come here? I'm a lawyer, not an investigator."

"I didn't come here because you're a lawyer," she replies coolly. "I came here because I was told you would be able to help me."

"Help you what?" he asks rhetorically. He continues to look out the windows for almost a minute before he picks up his cell and a business card from his desk and scribbles on the back. "Here," he hands it to her. "As a lawyer, I advise you to contact the NYPD. They'll find your man and then I'll hang him upside down and bleed him for you."

Which is not what she wants. She just wants it over, but more than that she wanted a place to start – an idea for a way forward beyond _call the cops_. As if that hadn't occurred to her before.

"Mr Beckett," she rises from her seat and straightens out the folds in her pants. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time. I can see I was wrong. You don't help people. I'll see myself out."

…


	2. Chapter 2

…

Richard Beckett stays by the window. Through the double glazing he barely feels any heat against his shoulder as he stares down at the street. The cars buzz along Century Park East the size of matchbox cars; people heading back to work after lunch, those heading to grab a late lunch in Beverley Hills and then hit up Rodeo Drive. Katherine Rodgers will probably be heading that way for a little retail therapy – Meredith was a great supporter of its healing abilities. Apparently Gucci, Hermés and D&G were all the supportive girlfriends you could want after a hard day.

He waits for a limo to peel off from the straggling lines, but it doesn't. Even if it did, he wouldn't be able to see the entrance from this angle. It was probably too flashy for her anyway since she wanted _discretion._ How she expects anyone to find her step-father and end this mess without drawing any attention from the outside world, he doesn't know. Over the years he's worked in law, the media attention has only gotten worse. People watch trials like they do baseball games or their favourite soaps.

If she wanted discrete and wanted the man found, he was justified in sending her to the NYPD.

A yellow car pulls of the highway and he finally turns away – like Katherine Rodgers would call a taxi – and finds Lanie in his doorway watching him.

"My next appointment here already?" he asks. He walks back to his chair, tossing the ball of paper he's had scrunched in one hands this whole time.

"Don't even," Lanie warns him, letting herself in.

"I'm sorry?"

"You will be if you don't spill right now. That was Katherine _Rodgers_!"

"You sure?" he makes a show of settling into his chair and looking for the piece of paper he had scribbled her name on when Lanie unceremoniously dumped the case on him half an hour ago. Picking it up off his desk he holds it at arm's length and reads. "I got her name as…Nikki Heat."

She narrows her eyes. "I will hurt you."

He works his eyebrows. "You promise?"

"Rick," Lanie comes forward, her face serious. "What did she want? Are you taking the case?"

"Not now, Lanie, ok?" he watches her gather herself up. "Please."

She looks at him, really looks and he does a quick check that his face is even enough to postpone her interrogation. With a sigh she drops it and comes to stand behind his chair. "Are you okay?" she asks. Her hands are a comfortable weight on his shoulders.

"Yeah," he brings a hand up to cover hers. "I have a few minutes before the next one gets here and I need to prep, okay? We can talk about the case later."

"You're sure?"

"You sure you can wait that long to get info on her, super fan?" he teases. "Congratulations on not flailing by the way."

She thwacks the side of his head. "Jerk."

"Ah, you love me."

"God knows why."

"Because he has a sense of humour."

"Or she's sadistic," Lanie muttered. "Next time I see Alanis Morissette I'm going to give her a piece of my mind."

…

"Mr Beckett? The defence's new witness?"

He jumps his eyes up from the short list he's been adding to through the last hour and a half to the small team of people on the couches opposite him. They look expectant but even if he had been paying full attention for the last half hour he wouldn't understand it. He's pretty sure he made his feelings on the matter clear within the first ten minutes.

He sighs. "If he really wants to bust her ass putting another character reference on the stand to waste my time that's fine – I'll make sure he buys me lunch for screwing around. He knows he can't make his client look better. We have the LAPD dept. shrink on hand and an independent willing to testify that Gantz is just the kind of no one with small person disorder to go killing."

"You're not concerned?"

Richard looked over at the speaker. An expensive suit did nothing to tamper Rick's contempt – the guy tanned. In L.A. – for the younger man he had overheard referring to himself as 'the next Richard Beckett'. William Harrison was useless as tits on a bull.

"That they brought out Gantz's mother as their big guns? You have to be joking. Tell your clients they'll get their justice. The evidence is loud and clear on this one. So unless there is anything else you gentlemen would like to discuss, I'll see you in court."

En masse hands push up from knees and the collection of lawyers and cops make their way from the room. One lingers and comes to stand beside him, mutually watching the progress of departure. Richard gets caught a little by surprise whenever he stands next to this detective. Each time he glances to the side to make eye contact he finds himself staring at creased forehead and bristly dark blonde fuzz over a flat head. It's hard to remember the extra half foot of height is only in attitude.

"Hey, kid," the man husks, his throat consensually abused by chain smoking for the last twenty years. Could have stakes in Marlborough by now.

"Royce," Richard replies, stretching out across the now empty couch.

Royce follows. "What've you been up to? Not like you to drop the ball."

"You caught that, huh?" he looks over at the man sprawled in the armchair. "It was a stupid meeting anyway."

"You that cocky? Possible new evidence and you don't care?"

"Confident," Rick replies. "I'm confident."

"And you say it's all ready to go."

Rick scoffs. "Please. My daughter could try this case. Don't worry so much; you arrested the guy and you were thorough."

"He's guilty. I know that; I just hate the political bullshit. I caught him, he did it, he goes away. It should be that simple."

"You've been dating Lady Justice for how long now? You should know she's a very complicated woman."

"Well you would know all about women," Royce shoots back.

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful," Rick pouts. "Can I help it the woman in my life is just as beautiful?"

"She around somewhere?"

"Lanie said she'd pick her up from school today. We had a feeling this meeting might run long."

"That ass Harrison is jumpier than the perp. Ass-kissing suck up that he is, he spends more time covering his ass than he does talking to the families."

"There's always one."

"You going to tell me where your head was the last hour? You got a more exciting case?"

Rick smirks. "You sound jealous."

"That's a yes."

"That's a maybe. Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically, what is it about? Did someone kill someone and not call for me? Rob a bank?"

"Whoa," Rick sits up. "Not so exciting as all that."

Royce looks disappointed. "What? Another divorce?"

"Probably," Rick mutters. "Hey, you heading back to the office?"

Royce nods so Rick fishes out his list from the sheaf of files and paperwork he dumped beside the couch. He passes it to the detective. "You think you could run that name for me?"


	3. Chapter 3

Laptop cable went and so I've had a shortage of battery to write. Will make it up to you with the next one.

...

…

Kate signs the credit card receipt for the driver and slings the strap of her handbag over one shoulder in preparation to slide over the cracking vinyl seats.

"Uh. Ms Rodgers?" the cabbie interrupts. "Could I get your autograph?"

She blinks. She thought people in LA were blasé about celebrities popping up. Most people could boast a tweet about a close encounter with Hollywood's rich and famous. This man looks so nervous about asking she doesn't think twice about declining.

"Can I borrow your pen again?" she asks. His grin is worth it.

She signs the extra receipt paper he coaxes from his in cab printer.

_Steve, _

_ Thanks for a journey without swear words, bad music or sudden stops. _

_Katherine R. _

He reads it and gives her a wide smile. "You spend too much time in New York, Ms Rodgers."

"There's no place like home," she grins and lets herself out, tapping a tattoo on the roof when she's clear. She could have asked Steve to take her as far as the stage but she enjoys the walk in. The studio is an amusement park of sets and creatures and costumes. There's no small amount of drama either.

While it was impressive to watch an assistant push a rack off tattered zombie outfits with one hand and balance a tray of three vent coffees with a phone sandwiched between her shoulder and ear, it's mostly comforting to know there are people who live their whole lives under this stress. And she thought she had it bad. She could be doing TV commercials or just impressions in front of her bathroom mirror for stand-up night. Instead she was a renowned Broadway actress, onto her third movie and nominated for an Oscar. She had a lot to be thankful for.

But money doesn't make you happy, she muses. Then again having no money wasn't doing her mother any great service either.

Kate nods at the security guard in his kiosk by the pedestrian entrance. He's not rent-a-cop type, but wears the logo of the studio on his left breast – she's not sure if that should make him more vigilant or less. He smiles her through and contemplates her route. Zombie hoard? Tudor? The last days she's been a little distracted and hasn't paid attention to the scene and set changes. The piece of pirate ships that rolls by for a blue screen shot are completely unfamiliar.

She follows it, watching the rigging swing and the flags fluttering like pendants. When it turns off onto a side street Kate pulls out her phone but none of the notifications look important. The relief is potent enough she can feel her heart slow. For the last three days checking her phone has been a trial. The fear of getting another message like she did three days ago, drives Kate's blood pressure up every time her phone rings.

_Am I speaking with Katherine Rodgers? This is Mercy Medical Centre in Baltimore. _

_You are listed as the emergency contact for Martha Rodgers. Earlier tonight she was brought in after a fall. _

_Nausea. Slightly disorientated. Bruised. Holding her for observation tonight for a concussion._

_She was at a party and got a little carried away. _

_Slipped. _

_Does she often drink? How much? _

_Do you have the contact information for her husband? She was calling for him. _

Kate swallows down the sour taste at the memory. What the hell was she doing to herself? She married an asshole, Kate gets that – she's dated one or two herself- but this was her _life_. Where was the vivacious woman who used to call to share gossip from her latest production? The one who would run lines with her before an audition? The one Kate could call when she had a bad day.

Kate just wanted her back. The strong woman who had raised her on her own. Happy, smiling and singing. Not in hospital all night because she slipped after a party for one in the kitchen on her way to open another bottle of merlot.

Maybe the lawyer was right. She needs to find her step father so Martha could rail at him a while, kick him in the balls a couple of times and then get back on her feet. If all the mediations were left private, there wouldn't even be all the knowing stares to taunt her.

Just got to find the slimy bastard.

Kate pushes phone back into her pocket and felt her fingertips brush against the edges of the business card from her meeting. She draws it out reluctantly and looks at the number scrawled across the back of it. Her teeth worry at her bottom lip for a second but then she shakes her head and pushes it back into the depth of her pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry about the mix up last time and thanks to everyone who spotted it and let me know.**

**...**

The winters are milder here. He almost misses the snow. It's only just after five and the light outside his window is still brilliant. He wanted the light – it was why he had chosen this office. Fed up with the inter office politics at his old firm he had taken his reputation before the sinking business could tarnish it with their stupidity and took his clients with him. Lanie Parrish had joined him.

He gave her a job and together they worked until he got this floor in Beverley Hills. After a spirited Row Sham Bo, which he lost, Lanie had let him keep this office. She told him that with the cases he worked he needed as much light as he could get.

She had no idea.

He rests one hip on the sill and hit speed dial. It was high up enough that for every purr of the dial tone he saw one of the sets of traffic lights down below change.

"Are you ringing to gloat?"

He grins. "You know me so well."

"I raised you," Jim Beckett points out.

"I saw the weather reports on Yahoo! and I called to say I'm not coming home after all. I like my nose attached to my face."

"Fine, stay where you are. But just a word of warning son, melanoma."

"Please," he scoffed.

His father chuckles. "So why the call?"

"Just thought I'd touch base, you know. Make sure you wrote down my flight details."

"I've got them. Are you looking forward to some time off?"

"God, yes."

"It'll be good to see you. I've got all the decorations down but you can tell Lexi I haven't started without her."

Richard looks at the child balled into the corner of his couch, her face pressed into the soft leather away from the sun so all he can see is the back of her purple hoodie and her orange ponytail. Around her are flecks of glitter and he can't for the life of him figure out where they're coming from – they fall from her like she's LA's version of Tinkerbelle spreading red and green pixie dust.

"She's been making more at school. I think you're going to have to get another box, Grandpa. Be prepared to applaud."

"That bad?"

"No, she's getting better every year. I think my daughter has some serious untapped creative ability."

"She probably gets that from your mother."

"Well she sure as hell didn't get it from _her_ mother," Rick mutters. Meredith couldn't touch anything without endangering her nails. Somehow no glue and glitter seemed a safe bet. Or blackmail material.

"Did you run into her again?"

"Meredith?" Rick blinks. "No. Last I heard she was on location in the Keys. I'll have to text and remind her to call Alexis on Christmas."

"So if it isn't woman troubles…"

"Can't a guy just want to call his Dad?"

"Is it a case?"

"You're a very suspicious old man."

Jim splutters.

"Is Mom there?"

Richard listens to the muttering as Jim hands the phone off. He recognises it as the way he moans at Alexis's weight when she demands a ride, or when she pleads for less chocolate chips in her pancakes. A dad's moan. Speaking of chocolate chips, that last visit, he must have left her alone too long with his mother – she had instilled her no chocolate for breakfast philosophy in her grandchild and turned her against him.

"So what is this I hear about woman troubles?" Johanna chirps.

He sighs out a resigned chuckle. "Mom."

"It's nice to hear from you," she tells him and he can see her standing from her chair and starting to wander the room. She never could sit still when she was on the phone. "I went shopping today and stocked up my baking ingredients. I know Alexis likes to think she can live off brownies when she's here so I bought enough for a double batch, I'll send one lot home with you."

"You two spoil her more every year."

"You're joking," she laughs. "These are the Christmases she'll always remember."

"I don't remember much from Christmases when I was her age," he disagrees. He spares a glance at the mini redhead and smiles when he sees one of her little feet twitch.

"Yes, well, she's smarter than you. Besides, we got a new battery for the video camera just in case…she still believes, right?"

"Enough that she cried last night, thinking Santa wouldn't be able to find her in New York." He was absolutely useless against her tears, and he wasn't even ashamed of it. He was only human and his kid was seriously adorable even when she was tear stained and snotty.

"She didn't do that last year," Johanna notes.

"She was only six," he shrugs. "She didn't really understand the wonder of St. Nicholas."

"So how did you resolve that one?"

"I suggested we write him a last minute letter together telling him we were going to be staying with Grandma and Grandpa for Christmas. We wrote down the address and everything then burned it."

"You burnt it?"

"Outside," he defends himself. It wasn't the picturesque sight he had imagined – embers catching in a breeze and blowing away from them out to the stars – with the city lights obscured the view from his balcony in a ruddy fog of fluorescence, but it had appeased Alexis.

There's a moment of silence from Johanna's end and he can tell she's picturing her granddaughter, her face soft. "We miss her."

He swallows. "I know."

The way Alexis lights up on Sunday night when she gets to Skype her grandparents on the East coast is always mirrored in his parents when they turn on their monitor. Last year when he was home he organised a wireless connection for their home laptop so every Sunday, they have dinner together. It makes for an early dinner for them and a late one for his parents but his daughter bounces all day looking forward to it. Sometimes Johanna keeps the laptop in the kitchen with her and they cook meals together with his mother chattering away to Alexis and teaching her what ingredients go well together and how to make the best sauces.

At age seven, Alexis is far more proficient in the kitchen than he was. When he was a child he was on peeling duty. Seasonings and cooking techniques came much later when it occurred to his mother that her son was going to be leaving for college and didn't know how to cook for himself. It came of more help to impress his girlfriends than it did to feed himself but Alexis was fast becoming a foodie.

Every Sunday night, full of food and a new recipes, Alexis would cuddle into his lap on the couch and talk until she fell asleep. Richard saw it on both sides – his daughter's determination to stay awake just that little bit longer and their longing to hold her as she drifted off.

He likes to think that if it weren't for the business here, he would move back to the city to be with them and give his daughter the family she missed.

"How is she?"

"Good," he clears his throat. "She's looking forward to spending the holidays with her favourite people."

Johanna hums. "Meredith?"

He tries not to sound angry, but it comes out resigned instead. "I called her on Lex's birthday and they talked. Alexis got to hear all about her mother's new role in a remake of Pretty Woman."

"She told Alexis about playing a call girl?" Johanna asks flatly.

"Her new word for the day started with p," Richard sighs at the memory of that conversation. How does one make a seven year old register the word her mother uses so flippantly is one she shouldn't repeat in public?

The silence emanating down the line speaks volumes, but he doesn't have the energy to have this conversation now, not with the rest of his day hanging over his head.

"I met Katherine Rodgers today."

Johanna is silent for a second longer, surprised. "What?"

He shrugs, well aware if Johanna Beckett could see him right now, so offhand, she would smack him. "She came into the office; just wanted some advice."

"Advice," Johanna repeats dumbly. "And did you?"

"I think I offended her. She walked out of the appointment." He lets her digest that. He scuffs at the carpet under his feet, the absence of his desk in his peripheral doing nothing to detract from the clarity with which his lunchtime meeting replays in his mind. "She's older."

"Oh, honey," she sounds concerned and he kicks himself a little.

"I know," he rushes out, not wanting to worry her. "I think it was just a long day. Lanie booked her in during the lunch break and we had just been working on a stabbing."

"And you're alright?"

"Fine. Absolutely fine, just wanted…to say hi. I'm still in the office actually, just wrapped up for the day. Lex is snoring on my couch."

Johanna doesn't call him on it but he knows he didn't fool her. He's always been the one to avoid it. He vowed never to see a show after that whereas she's the one who became enthralled and saw them as a celebration. Johanna has always good-naturedly grumbled about missing Katherine Rodgers debut. "She doesn't snore."

"She does after Lanie feeds her half a pack of Oreos," he forces the joke. A quick glance over to the lump drooling on his couch reassures him as much as listening to his mother through the receiver.

She chuckles. "Lanie is a saint."

"I beg to differ."

"At least she makes sure my granddaughter gets fed through the week."

"So we'll see you soon," he offers, not bothering to argue with her – he was good, but she was better. And she knew first-hand how hectic some days get. He didn't he have time to be Mr Mom every day.

"Are you going to help her?" Johanna asks, ignoring the detour he had led them on. He smiles, amused that he finds her predictability comforting. It is usually a very grey day before he finds solace in his mother being a compulsive pit bull. She knows what she wants. It reminds him a little of the look Katherine Rodgers left his office wearing.

And they were back right where it started. Katherine Rodgers, Broadway's glamour girl. "She has no idea what she wants. How can I help her?"

"If she came to you, she knows she needs help," she offers. "That's a start."

"I'm a lawyer, Mom. People don't come to me unless they have a game plan. They want a divorce, they want someone thrown in jail, they want to sue, but she…she doesn't."

"Did you listen?"

He opens his mouth, childishly hurt she would ask him. The words rise and sit on his tongue, heavy and reluctant to fall. The longer he tries to prod them out the more sour they taste so he swallows them down and thinks back.

He remembers making her talk, her shoulders set defensively. Her words were clipped, cold. He tried to put it down to arrogance, but no matter how hard his mind pushed for it there was guilt. She refused to be put in his little box and every time he tried he felt worse. She had come into the room open and had talked willingly, had offered information voluntarily.

He glanced over at the high backed chair facing his desk and remembered that the proud line of her spine had been parallel to it the whole way, like she was being pushed back from him by a force. Defensive. Lost, but hiding it. How many people had he seen do the same only to completely miss it with her?

The stiff posture wasn't because she was cold; it was because he wasn't listening. And she knew it. Damn it, she had reached out to him where she hadn't anyone else. Put trust in him to be a professional and he had let himself get railroaded. He scrubs at his face with the fingers of his free hand. Through the crack of his open door he hears Lanie closing her own door, leaving for the night.

"So what are you going to do?" Johanna prompts him.

He crosses his office and sticks his head out into the corridor. He catches Lanie shrugging her keys into her bag and flags her down.

"Hell if I know."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to you guys. We'll get there. **

…

The belt is moving so fast the brand name stencilled in white looks like the markers in the middle of the road out on the highway. Kate feels dizzy when she glimpses down to check her laces are still holding up and they fly past.

Eyes up top.

The thought pops up and considering her treadmill is set up next to a full wall mirror she can't help but burp out a chuckle. It's been so long since she laughed it's as much a shock to her system as it to her but it feels so good she doesn't stop and keeps running with laughter screaming in her lungs and side.

When she feels light headed and a little concerned in the back of her mind that she may be cracking she hoists herself onto the side panels and slaps the machine to a stop. Her ribs feel like they might actually split but despite the discomfort she abuses them further and forces them out to their limits. She gulps down the air and moans when another bout of giggles threaten to surface.

Wow, I really am losing it, she thinks, hiccupping a breath.

Gathering her rubbery legs under her, Kate makes for the stretching mats and collapses onto her back, star-fished. She's not sure how many minutes pass with her staring blankly at the ceiling before her brain reengages and prompts her to start stretches. Her skin pulls from where it's stuck to the vinyl matting, a kind of natural Velcro.

Weak knees and gelatinous quads leave her balance shot but she works all her muscles. With a wince she locks her fingers, palms pushed away from her body and touches them to the floor in front of her shoes. Her calves scream at her so she locks her knees straight and pushes harder.

A little pain is worth the clearer head. It's either the endorphins or having a good, if ridiculous, laugh but she feels better than she has since her mother was admitted into hospital. Maybe it's the confidence and ease of falling into her routine, the control and power.

It's just what she wants for her and her mother. Side order of sass. Maybe hold the shopaholic tendencies.

She shakes her head when it becomes apparent she's likening her mother to a hamburger order. It's just as clear though. She can see so clearly the woman she wants to rebuild and the craving for it is every bit as strong as one she has for a hamburger.

To test her legs, Kate dares a lunge stretch. Her quads protest and her front knee wobbles but she corrects. I may not be allowed a hamburger, she muses, but damn it if I'm not going to find _Dad_ and help Mom castrate him.

Kate thinks of the card she couldn't throw away. When she changed into her work out gear it fell out and her first response was to toss it. Instead she tucked it into her wallet behind the other accumulated business cards but there was something about the man she had received it from that refused to be buried the same as that little square piece of card.

He surprised her. Well at first had just infuriated her. When she realised later that he was right that only made it worse – made her feel childish and more than a little stupid. What had she been thinking, scheduling the appointment with the name Nikki Heat? Just thinking of it had set temple to pounding all day. Even Lady Gaga's _Americano_ cranked loud enough to literally pump her heart hadn't helped. But when she hit the fourth mile of her run, she ran out of indignation and resentment and came to the realisation he was right. And that she hated it.

Richard Beckett was a lawyer first and foremost. He was perfectly within his rights to tell her there was nothing he could do. It's not like he could sue someone who disappeared, nor could he mail divorce papers to an imaginary address. Despite this rude awakening, he had helped – in his own way. Maybe that's what Ryan had been referring to. She couldn't do this by herself and he had given her someone who could help. Not that she knew she would reach if she dialled the number he scribbled on the back of his card.

It had come from the contact list on his phone, so Kate figured that was a good sign. Richard Beckett had built quite the reputation and she imagined was very careful about the people he used when trying a case. It had to be someone he trusted. Whatever they did. PI? Old colleague? NYPD?

Kate shakes her legs, trying to free up the muscles and testing for any spots that might be painful later. With all the meet and greets she's been roped into in this city, she's been neglecting her routine. Yoga and Pilates in her hotel room have won out over heading down to the public gym and running. Thankfully she's the only one here. After today there are bound to be a few uncomfortable twinges tomorrow.

She fishes her locker key out of her pocket and grabs her towel.

The treadmill is great for the late night workouts but there's something Kate misses about running outside and seeing things flash past. She feels faster than a digital readout of 8 miles an hour when she overtakes everything – people, trees, buildings. She would miss the short walk to the shower though.

Kate checks her private phone and is relieved to find no notifications from her mother or missed calls from authorities medical or legal.

At the thought she purses her lips and pulls out the business card. First glance goes to the unknown number and second when flipped is for Richard Beckett's number. Before she can stop herself she dials the latter; the former too much of an unknown.

"Beckett," he answers.

"Mr Beckett," she greets.

"Ms Rodgers," he states. She can't get a read on his tone of voice. He doesn't sound surprised or pleased, but it's open enough.

The silence is uncomfortable.

"The number you gave me," she starts. "Whose is it?"

"A Detective in the NYPD. He's a friend of mine."

"And he can help?"

She hears him shift. "He's in homicide," Richard tells her. "But he does good work. He's a great believer in, ah…no muss, no fuss. He can put out an All Points on your Stepfather or use his connections to do some quiet work."

She bites her lip and frowns at herself in the mirror.

"You can trust him," Richard continues, reading her hesitation. "We've collaborated on a few cases, some very high profile, but he's always been clean. Not interested in money or glory at someone else's expense."

"NYPD?"

"NYPD."

She draws in a breath. "He can find my Stepfather?"

"Yes."

She nods and swipes sweat sticky hair off her forehead. "Okay."

…

R&R?


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry about that…this website does not like me these days. Anyway, thanks to those who have been reading and leaving reviews. I know it's slow going but feel free to tell me what you think.**

...

In an action that makes him think of his father, Richard pulls at the knot in his tie before he's across the threshold into his loft. It was one of Jim Beckett's signature quirks to walk in, briefcase in one hand and the other tugging his tie from around his neck. Richard notices more of these habits turning up in his own repertoire and it makes him blink every time.

Huh, must be getting old.

He shakes his head. "Hey," he calls out. "I'm home."

When Alexis doesn't try and gridiron him back out into the corridor he shucks his shoes in the dark entranceway and follows the sound of the television to the living room. He spies Lanie claiming the couch, too absorbed in a Friends rerun to hear his greeting. His socks make him stealthy and he steals up directly behind her head, unable to restrain the crazy grin. Evil, he congratulates himself, I am so evil.

Then he drops his briefcase onto her stomach.

She screeches and he ducks into a ninja roll and plasters his back to the leather at the end of the couch. Risking a quick peek over the arm he sees her squirm out from under the leather case to look over the back of the couch. Except he's not there anymore, he's a freaking Nin…

"Richard Beckett!" Lanie growls, snatching a handful of his hair and dragging him up.

"Ah!" he cries. "My hair! Apples…Apples!"

They break apart and she glares at him. "You creep," she grumbles. "You have serious issues."

"If you didn't think that was hilarious, so do you."

She crosses her arms over her chest but he can see her exaggerated frown is to hide a smile. "Well that's it, book me in for therapy."

He grins and shifts closer now that he's on his feet and his hair is beyond her reach. "You want me to schedule an appointment with a plastic surgeon, too?" he asks. "Because you've got…a frown… right there!" he grabs as much of her cheeks as he can and shouts out a laugh.

She glares at him and he grins wider, pleased with himself. This was the payback for depriving him of lunch today and dropping mayo on his pants. He's too busy gloating to register that she's too quiet, her eyes too pleased. Lanie bypasses his hands on her face and latches on to his ear and twists.

This time it's him that shrieks.

Both adults are caught off guard when Alexis bolts into the room, towel wrapped clumsily around her. "Daddy?" she cries.

"Whoa!"

Alexis tries to put the brakes on but her sodden feet slip on the hardwood and he catches her before she cans out. His shirt is instantly sodden, the towel half gone and apparently never used other than a nod to modesty. His pride that his daughter would jump out of the bath so fast to defend her father is the only thing that stops him chuckling at her near wipe out. He was a lucky man.

"You're home," Alexis states unnecessarily.

"You're wet," he replies, stepping sideways to avoid the water trail she left behind her and flops down on the couch with her in his lap.

"I was in the bath."

"You almost done?"

"Yep," she nods, smiling. "I was just fishing."

The magnetic fish and rod were one of Alexis's favourites. At least once a week she would pretend she was a fisherman and pick out fish for her aquarium – because she wouldn't hurt them. When he asked her which one she wanted for dinner she looked horrified. They were her _pets_. After that he made a point of finding a _Finding Nemo_ set. She liked Dory the best – hummed just keep swimming the whole time.

"I'm glad you came to save me," he plants a kiss on her head. "Lanie was trying to rip my ear off."

"Don't listen to him, Lexi," Lanie tells the little girl. "He's just being a big baby."

"Again?"

"He's been a baby all day. Must be what happens when he gets hungry."

Alexis cranes her head to look at him. "Are you hungry, Daddy? There's Chinese in the fridge. Sweet and Sour and wontons, oh, and that yucky black bean one."

"What, no rice?"

"And rice!"

He lifts her off his lap and replaces the towel more snugly under her arms. "I may take you up on that offer, pumpkin. I'll heat it up while Lanie helps you get dry." He looks up at his partner and she's already extending her hand to the little girl, her face soft. It tickles him that she can be so gentle when most of the time married men gulp when she walks past and protect their wallets. She can be as stubborn as he is and has just as big a reputation. Oddly enough, considering what she does, it isn't as a bitch.

He's seen her take on some of the worst divorces in the city, destined to be messy, public nightmares, and restore order. He's seen her cow the most misogynistic bastards and get her clients the share they deserve. He was there when one backhanded her across the cheek and she just returned to the table. A Machine – that was her reputation. Capable of being cold but always fair and always thorough.

With a huge subprogram for cute kids and puppies.

He pulls the cartons out two at a time and spoons them out onto a plate. He opens the microwave and sees the fortune cookies already on the glass. He smiles and swaps them for his dinner, snapping the microwave shut loudly knowing they'll be listening for that so they can re-emerge and convince him to eat his before his dinner so they can crack theirs as well.

"Found them?" Lanie asks from the kitchen counter, her approach hidden by the sounds of the machine. He waves them. "Did you cover that plate?"

"Huh?" he looks from her to the plate and jumps. "Crap!" He yanks the door open and is dismayed to see hot sweet and sour sauce on the roof and walls. He sighs and shuts it again, letting it continue – there's not much point in covering it now. "Where's Alexis?"

"She's all dry and putting her pyjamas on now. She's getting more independent. Feisty."

"Too much time with you," he mutters watching his dinner bubble and toss up splashes of sweet and sour and black bean sauce.

"You're too kind."

"I know."

"So," she rests her elbows on the counter. "Katherine Rodgers."

He sighs and pulls open the microwave and grabs a hand towel to fish the plate out. Hopefully she gets the message – food now, talk later.

"Should I be jealous?" she asks, smiling sweetly.

"You should let me eat my dinner since you're the one who stole my lunch break. I was looking forward to that sandwich." He stabs a fork into the rice and eats it almost defiantly. Ha, take that.

"God," she sighs. "Men are such babies when it comes to food."

"I'm hungry," he grumbles around his mouthful. She looks unimpressed. "We can talk later."

She slides into a stool. "Without little ears?" she guesses.

He nods.

Lanie reaches and steals a floret of broccoli and pops it into her mouth. "What?" she asks when she registers him staring at her. "Broccoli is the super vegetable. Vitamins A, B1, B2, B3, B6, C and K. Also minerals, fibre and folate."

He swallows with difficulty since his mouth has dropped. "You don't say," he manages.

"What?" she asks. "I can know stuff about nutrition as well as how to fry an adulterer with a pre-nup."

"I know," he reassures her hastily. "It's just a novelty to hear you blurt out factoids outside law. You sounded professional."

Alexis scampers into the room and wraps herself around her father's leg. "She is a professional, daddy."

"You bet I am," Lanie sasses. "I also know how to read food labels - someone's got to make sure you get all your vitamins and minerals. Aside from your Grandma."

"She cooks good," Alexis grins. "She says soon I'll be a better cook than Daddy."

Richard smiles down at her and bends to lift and settle her on his hip. "We'll set you up in a restaurant," he tells her and cradles her with one arm while he loads another forkful with the other. "How about Chinese? You can learn how to make all the best dishes."

"Like fortune cookies? Can I open my fortune cookie now?"

"Sure thing. Alexis Beckett, the best fortune cookie maker on the West Coast."

…


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks for letting me know copy and paste malfunctioned. I've checked this one so I know it's right...**

...

_The world may be your oyster, but that doesn't mean you'll get its pearl. _

His fortune was surprisingly relevant, Richard muses. The simple phrase is stuck in his head so he doesn't need the sliver of paper but he pulls it out his pocket and smooths it out anyway. The words strike him now as they did and hour ago. You don't always get what you want. The message isn't the sort of wisdom sprouted by a parent or friend or even the kind of ambiguous warning you'd expect from a carnival fortune teller; it's more of a snide offense - the handy work of a lottery ticket salesman when you don't win anything or a drunk too stupid to keep his mouth shut at the local bar.

Martha and Katherine Rodgers may be big names in entertainment, but their lives weren't perfect.

He might not want to have anything to do with Katherine Rodgers, but he didn't have a legitimate reason to turn down the case. When there was a case, he reminds himself, at the moment they've got nothing.

Upstairs Lex is talking to Lanie about girl stuff – he's sure his daughter is working to get Lanie to take her shopping for his Christmas present (he caught her checking her piggy bank yesterday). He takes into account Lanie's insatiable curiosity and penchant to meddle and figures he has at least ten minutes before she comes downstairs to grill him.

Tapping in his password, he unlocks his laptop and opens the web browser. He's been thinking about his lunch time meeting all day and compiling a list of things he knew about the case. Martha Rodgers is one of the older leads in mainstream Broadway currently on tour for Les Miserables. Ironic. Despite this, he's certain she uses New York as her base. The bet is she got married there too.

The broad search [Martha Rodgers Marriage] returns millions of hits. Most of them are online gossip rags and forums for fans of the shows she's worked on. _Martha Rodger's Shock Marriage! _despite the promising title refers to her role on a soap, _Temptation Lane_. He purses his lips and scrolls back. The gossip may be useful, night fill in some details about the groom. Fans were certain to speculate, involve themselves in Martha's life with their blessings and interest. For now he added [New York Ledger] to the keywords.

In the archive he finds the exclusive: almost a full column on the whirlwind romance of the fiery Broadway Diva. There's one photo of the wedding party outside Riverside Church and some captions in bold – highlights from speeches he supposes.

The online edition is rendered in colour and he wanders the ranks of black and spectrum of red, easily spotting Katherine on her mother's arm, smiling. She had a beautiful smile.

Her new step-father however is…unobtrusive to say the least. Normal. Rick wonders if he was wearing flashing lights when he attracted Martha's attention, because his face was nothing to write home over – or in this case write to her daughter about. He seems glaringly out of place in the photo, almost a head shorter than his bride, more lined, less hair…no redeeming physical qualities. Love worked in mysterious…inexplicable ways.

It's a puff piece. Who, what, where, when. No why. The reporters were probably stumped by that one. They're not too detailed on the 'who' either when it comes to Mitchell Achor. He was, is, nobody. But he was a nobody who put his whole life on display like he had nothing to hide.

It didn't scream fraud to him. No con man was that stupid. Hopefully this was just a case of stupidity born of watching Jason Bourne and _Catch Me If You Can_ too many times. That way when Katherine contacted Esposito he could follow the wide trail, pick him up and scare him enough the case probably wouldn't have to see the inside of a courtroom for more than a few minutes. If he could get a friend to drop by the office with his wig it might not even need that.

"Why do I feel like I'm walking in on you during your happy time?" Lanie asks from the doorway.

He looks up and smirks. "You've been imagining it would look like this?" he asks. "Lanie, no man over the age of 25 sits in front of his laptop at his desk for his 'happy time'."

"Still feels like I caught you doing something dirty," she moves into the room and comes to stand behind his shoulder. "What are you looking at?"

"Just doing some research."

"Can I look?"

He shrugs. "Sure. I'm going to need you to partner me on it." He feels the warmth as she leans over his shoulder, supporting herself on the back of his chair while she reads. He can still smell her perfume but it's softer under the smell of Alexis' bath products.

"Martha Rodgers' wedding?" Lanie asks. "Is that what this is about?"

"Martha Rodgers and Mitchell Achor, married October 26th. November 9th they get back from their honeymoon in Florida," he lets his eyes wander back to the actress' smiling face. "November 11th Martha wakes up alone and her bank accounts empty."

She jerks away from his back. "No," she gasps. "No way."

"No one has seen him since."

"So why did Katherine come to see you?"

"She says someone on set told her I was good at helping people."

Lanie walks around the desk so she can perch a hip on the side and see him. "Isn't she working on a remake of Casablanca?"

"That's the rumour," he sighs. "And we all know who's directing that little outfit."

"Kevin," Lanie smiles. "Does he give out your business card or something?"

"He's probably trying to get back at me, make me work too hard," Richard grouses. Probably payback for the Bachelor's party. "He's off base this time though. What did he think he was doing sending someone to me with nothing on the cards? She doesn't know where her stepfather is. No one even called the police. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"What did you do?"

"I gave her Esposito's number," he sighed. "She called and agreed to contact him after I promised her his discretion."

"I can't blame her- the way they've been sniffing around. Esposito's your detective friend in New York, right?"

He blinks. "Yeah," he answers. "Hey, wait. What do you mean 'they've been sniffing around'?"

Lanie cocks her head at an angle like he was strange for not knowing. "Martha Rodgers was hospitalised this week."

"What?"

"Head injury," Lanie told him. "The statement released to the press by her doctor said she fell. She's got a pretty impressive egg on her head - makeup is going to have a field day."

"Fell," he repeats. He Googles it and pulls up the first legitimate sounding result. The actress is shown in portrait being escorted through the crowds. Above the fashionably large sunglasses is a nasty contusion. He's seen as many as evidence photos, he's impressed the older woman is alive let alone walking less than 48 hours later. The sunglasses probably weren't doing a thing to help the headache if she was walking through a loud crowd like that.

"Hell of a bruise she's got too," Lanie notes. "Quite a tumble. There were a few bloggers out there who might have mentioned they heard alcohol was involved."

"Are we talking accident or side effect of intentional flat out drunk?"

"If you'd just been duped by the one you loved, wouldn't you?" she shoots back, defensive. He raises his hands quickly, eager to head her off before she got too fired up.

"Katherine did say she needed help, closure," he muses. "And if someone breached HIPPA laws to leak info on her mother's condition her doctor wouldn't release, I can see maybe she wasn't as paranoid about press interference as I thought."

"Why did you think you might need my help?"

"I may not be part of the Rodgers fan clubs or an expert on the female heart, but I'm guessing when they finally track this guy down, Martha is going to want a divorce to go with the money she'll repossess." He squints for a second. "Assuming I didn't scare her daughter off and they don't have the proceedings in New York."

"I hope you were at least nice about it."

"Define nice," he answers slowly.

Lanie's eyes flash. "Richard. Beckett."

"It is possible," he admits cautiously. "That I could have been more…supportive."

"Define more _supportive_."

"How was I supposed to know her mother was in hospital?" he exclaims. "She looked perfectly put together to me."

"And you went after her like she'd just murdered someone didn't you?" Lanie berates him. "How many times have I told you that some of our clients are the good guys?"

"I'm a prosecutor, okay? I don't usually see the good guys. I wouldn't be taking this case if it wasn't for that stupid Irishman and his alcohol intolerance."

"But you are taking the case, so ring back and apologise!"

"Who are you? My mother?"

"Oh no you didn't," Lanie gasps reaching awkwardly across the desk for his ears. He slides out of his seat hurriedly and puts the desk between them. She loses balance and pitches forward towards the open laptop but catches herself on a palm and rolls off the edge of the desk on to her feet with commendable agility.

He briefly considers speed walking to the other side and keeping a barrier between them but forces himself to stand still as she comes for him. "That wasn't intended as an insult. My Mother is a wonderful woman."

"Then I'm sure she'll understand!" Lanie growls. "I am not your mother, Richard Beckett, and don't you forget it."

...


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry for the wait, but Merry Christmas. **

**Also, if anyone knows how to fix a blue screen error that keeps shutting down my laptop, I'm all ears.**

**...**

…

There's an email from Royce waiting for him when he arrives at the office after dropping Alexis off the next morning. It's only time stamped as being sent half an hour ago, so Richard doesn't feel guilty about not checking his emails last night and missing it.

…

**To: Beckett, Richard**

**Cc:**

**Bcc:**

**Subject: Most boring man alive**

….

**Here you go, Sunshine.**

** I've had a quick glance and I'm not jealous anymore – of you anyway, you can keep him. Little jealous when I found out he married that actress in New York. **

**R**

BACKGROUND INVESTIGATION REPORT

ACHOR, MITCHELL JAMES.

293 Broome St

New York

NY 10002

That sounded right. A little fast for him to be moving into Martha Rodgers' apartment…but unless there was another Mitchell living with the actress that was the right man.

Sex: M

DOB: 17/4/1948

Rick looks over the single line summary beneath it. A speeding ticket. That's all USA's law enforcement have on the man. No missing person record. No suspicion of fraudulent activity. No sign that anyone even knew he had dropped off the face of the earth with millions of dollars.

He double checks the DMV against the photo in the Ledger's article. Mitchell Achor looked like Mitchell Achor. Sure it wasn't a fingerprint or DNA match, but Richard was comfortable in saying Mitchell Achor was who he said he was or he had spent more than he earned in a year or more on plastic surgery and had some amazing friends who created a perfect back story. Unlikely.

That made everything more difficult, he sighs. Master criminal, he was not. Once Espo had a look it shouldn't take long to track him down – points in the happy column. No history for motive- points in the not so happy column. But, money. It always came down to money. Mitchell would have needed the money and saw Martha as an easy target.

I need to see his financials to prove motive in court, Rick mused. Might even tell me where he's spending his inheritance.

He debates internally at getting involved but the urge to find the puzzle pieces is too strong. To an outsider it might seem he stared out into space for only a few seconds before he picked up his phone. Maybe he had picked up on his parent's tendency to get involved in the investigation.

_And we know just how that one worked out…_

After twenty seconds of no answer, he considers hanging up. It's been a while since he's called. But he remembers Espo always being pretty quick to answer. Almost every detective he's ever met has preferred to get updates that way and keep the momentum rather than troll through all the paperwork in the middle of a case. He must be busy. In the middle of a shootout or coffee run.

Rick leaves a message and returns his attention to clearing out his inbox. Amazon. DA. Defence lawyer. Lab. Viagra – so much for junk mail. He forwards that one to Lanie then deletes it. He can hear her crossing the hall when Mozart's variation on _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_ starts from his phone and can't decide whether he's happy for the interruption or not. Would have been an interesting conversation.

"Beckett," he answers. Lanie's head clears his doorjamb.

"Hey, man," Esposito crows. "What's happening, bro?"

"Just working," he returns modestly, sticking his tongue out at his partner, revelling in the glare she sends his way by hiding from her on the phone.

"No shit, me too. Meaning I'm too busy to talk to you," Esposito scoffs.

"Zito," Richard sniffs, waving cheerfully to Lanie who sticks her tongue out and flips him the bird in retaliation. "You can't see me, but I'm crying, actually crying, over here."

"I bet you are," Espo mutters but Rick can hear the snort of laughter the NYPD detective is restraining. "So, what do you want?"

He grins at Lanie who just invites herself in and makes a show of setting herself up to wait for him on his couch. "I'm just following up on the case."

"Case?"

"The Rodgers case?" Rick prompts. "How bad is the NYPD that the stats are up high enough you don't remember a case you got yesterday?"

"Bro, I think the LA sun has gone to your head. I didn't get any Rodgers case yesterday."

The self-satisfaction drops from his face. "Katherine Rodgers said she was going to call you."

He hears Espo choke. "Katherine Rodgers! You gave her my number? Bro, I love you!"

"Yeah," he mutters. She just didn't do anything with it. "I'm your Daddy. Look 'Zito I need you to run a guy for me. I'll brief you when you've got the time, but I need to track someone down. I got their NCIC but can you run financials? He's a New Yorker."

"Love to help you out, bro, but that isn't gonna get me a warrant."

"I'll take care of it. Ask Markaway and tell him it's payback for the water at his poker last time he called whisky."

"Okay, but you owe me. I don't like blackmailing people I need to work with every day."

"I'll set up a meeting with Katherine Rodgers. That make us square?"

Esposito let out a low whistle. "I am so jealous right now. What's the name?"

Rick double checks the DOB. "Mitchell James Achor. DOB 17/4/1948."

"Got it," the detective replies and Rick believes him. His special op training left his mind like a cage. Names, numbers – never had to say them more than once.

Lanie was still sitting on the couch, legs crossed primly with her back slouched back and an eyebrow raised. "Okay, I'm going to get right on arranging your celebrity experience so hang up and I'll make the call."

"I should have followed you out to LA," Esposito grumbled. "Date with Katherine Rodgers just like that? Screw New York."

"Feeling the love. Let me know what you find?"

"On it," Esposito already sounds far away and on the move.

Rick drops the call and redials the number Katherine called from last night. "She said she was going to call," he grumbles for Lanie's benefit. "She asks for help? I'll make sure she gets it - she's a nut case."

Lanie relocates to the armchair directly opposite him. "Did it occur to you that she might just be busy?"

"Yeah," he scoffs. "Someone makes an emergency appointment in a lunch break when they're supposed to be shooting, and then they don't have time to make a phone call?" He hears the head of an automated message asking him to leave a message. "Answerphone, damn it."

"Hey," Lanie frowns, "Relax."

He opens his contacts and selects Ryan's name. "She's pissing me off. Doesn't call the cops, asks for help, says she's going to call the cops and then doesn't call them…again. Mother in hospital. Does she think I'm a miracle worker?" he pauses and tries to let it go.

Rationally he can understand her resistance to the idea might have made her wait before making the call …so what? She was still uncertain, she was busy? Nothing in his line of work was ever instant. Unfortunately, the condescending tone of that part of his mind seemed to be flaunting rather than soothing his ire.

Patience, he reminds himself when the line picks up. "Kev?"

Lanie rolls her eyes.

"Rick," Kevin Ryan greets him. "I wondered when I'd be getting your call."

"Looks like now," Rick replies dourly, trying to rope in his irritation. "What do I owe you for all the advertising you're doing for me?"

Kevin laughs. "For you, my friend, free."

"So, Katherine Rodgers, huh?"

"She's nice, right?"

Rick hums an approximate agreement.

"I don't know what her problem is, and I know you're not going to tell me, but I hope you can do something for her. She's a bit lonely out here I think. Remember how long it took us to get used to this city? I think so much time away from The Big Apple is hitting her hard. All she does is work and go to the gym so I thought I'd invite her around for dinner; Jenny wants to meet her. You'd be welcome to join us. Just found out today about her Mom's accident."

"I heard about that," he sighs. "Hey is she close by? I just want a quick word with her."

"Kate?" Kev asks, surprised. "Nah, man. She called me this morning and said she wasn't going to be coming in today."

"She called you?"

"Well, her agent. You know how it is. You're the first person I've talked to directly all day. Half the time even Jenny leaves me messages through my PA." Rick can see him rolling his eyes. "I think I need a vacation."

"Tell me about it."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just got some stuff I need to tell her. Maybe I'll drop by her place. Where did the studio set her up?"

Kevin hums. "I'm not exactly sure, but I'll get my PA to check and text you the address."

"Thanks man."

"No problem. But dinner soon?" Huh, Kev must really like her – and that's…pretty rare.

"You got it."

He sighs. She is making it very hard to stay mad at her.

…

R&R?


	9. Chapter 9

Her hotel is freezing – obviously she brought the weather with her. He bypasses the front desk and trying to get info out of the staff there. Ryan's PA was kind enough to include the room number in her message – something he might have to mention to his friend at some point- very trusting. He rides the crimson carpeted elevator with a hunchback of an old lady. She has a Chihuahua in her large purse but the weight of the small, rat-like animal is almost too much for her and bends her spine even more. He would offer to carry it, but he can't stand the creatures – ugly, loud, pampered accessories. Give him a Shepherd or a Lab any day – and from the way the woman is dressed like the Queen mother and studiously ignoring him, he doesn't think she'd let him hold the animal anyway.

He gets off before her making sure to give the dog a wide berth as it yaps back at the elevator when the chime sounds. Small Dog Syndrome. It occurs to him that might actually exist and he blinks.

He took the drive here to mull out rough plan, largely at Lanie's insistence. She claimed he can't 'bully' his way around this case and should take more of an advisory role than a combatant. By the time he was half way he reluctantly admitted to himself that she was probably right. Katherine Rodgers hadn't come to him because he was a lawyer; she just wanted advice.

So he'd tone it down. Play nice. Richard pushes the doorbell to the suite.

Several weight changes later he knocks.

He flinches when the reply comes from behind him.

"Mr Beckett," she states, an eyebrow raised- she almost looks like she enjoyed seeing him jump. "What are you doing here?"

He blinks, taking in the armful of dry-cleaning sleeves draped over one arm. "I wanted to talk to you about your mother's case."

"I wasn't aware there was a case," she returns, turning away and using her card to let herself in. "After all, what can a lawyer do?" She leaves the door open and he doesn't know if that's an invitation to follow her or if he's not even worth the time it would take to close the door in his face.

So he steps forward and shuts the door. When he turns around she's nowhere in sight so he focuses in on for the sound of heels to guide him to her. Her whole suite is polished hardwood, like coffee against the cream walls. It's modern. Nice. Sleek and sophisticated but too empty. Well it is a hotel room, he chides himself.

She's in her closet when he finds her. He is presented with the back of her, the lines deliberately attract attention and slide it to features which hold it captive. Her legs are even longer now than they were thirteen years ago. She bends slightly, quickly and the shirt she's wearing pulls tight across her back for a short second, showing up a black bra strap spanning her back. From there his eyes are drawn up to the wild curls and it's safe when she turns seconds later and catches him staring at her.

"Nice place," he offers, trying to be more approachable than he was yesterday. To show that he's willing to talk. And to listen. That was Lanie's advice, right; not to go gung-ho on her, but to talk and bring it up as naturally as possible.

"Seriously?" her eyebrows have a graceful line to them when they pull up that way.

"Sure."

"It's complimentary. I've stayed in better and I've definitely stayed in worse," she says and turns away from him again moving into the ensuite bathroom, ignoring him again.

"Hey," he calls, following. "I'm trying to talk to you."

She's throwing her toothbrush into a handbag sized makeup bag and zipping it closed, her movements sure, fast. "I'm a little busy right now." She brushes past him neatly on her way back out into the bedroom.

"Well take a second," he catches at her elbow, jarring her to an abrupt standstill which makes him dizzier for the sudden quiet than her darting had earlier.

"Take your hand off me," she says quietly, but there's something dangerous there. Not an, I'll scream, or an, I'll sue you. It's something more visceral, almost painful. He wonders for the first time what exactly she was thinking of yesterday when she wanted to know what she could legally do to her step-father.

He releases her but doesn't take a step back.

She looks at him a breath longer, calculating before turning back to her bed. "What do you want?"

"I rang Detective Esposito this morning," he starts. "You said you wanted this resolved quickly and quietly so I asked him for some information to start building the case." He shrugs. "Except he had never heard of your mother's case."

"Because I didn't call him," she finishes his unspoken addition.

"That was my assumption," he nods.

She turns and looks at him. "I'm sorry. Your idea has merit and I can see that now."

"And yet you didn't make the call. Can I ask why? What changed since last night?"

"I didn't call last night because of the time difference," she looks at him defiantly. "If I'm going to trust this detective I've never met with my mother, I thought it would be best to call him at a normal time instead of waking him up."

He blinks. Wow, that actually never occurred to him.

"And this morning?"

"I've been busy," he watched her brows pucker and the ends of her hair swing wildly as she viciously shoves her makeup bag into a large suitcase. It's giving her a bit of trouble.

"Where are you going?"

"New York," she replies shortly. The makeup bag must have been the last of her things because she is running her zip around the outside of the case in a well-practiced move. She tenses for a split moment and all her muscles ripple as she smoothly lifts the case from the bed to the floor.

"What, now?"

"Yes, so if you would get out of my way."

"What's the hurry? I spoke to your agent less than an hour ago and she said you were going to be in town for the rest of the week." The woman had sounded a little officious, self-important like most of the agents he had ever met. To be honest, he was surprised the woman hadn't called Katherine before he arrived.

"You called my agent?" Katherine jerks up, dispensing the handle, her eyes glittering. Pissed off.

"What's going on?"

"None of your concern," she moves past him but he blocks her before she can get through the doorframe.

"As a lawyer…" he starts.

"Don't give me that bullshit," she glares at him.

He swallows down the guilt, the self-directed anger that he handled yesterday so badly and had betrayed what little trust she might have had in him. She hasn't made any move to duck under his arm, too dignified even in her haste but watches his face instead.

"Oh, so you agree it was utter bullshit?" she sees some doubt in him. There's something a little like triumph in it, that she had finally found some power in this mess.

He swallows his pride. "Look, about yesterday-"

"I don't have time for this," she huffs, not even interested in hearing his apology. "Move."

"Have you even told anyone you're leaving? Your agent? Kevin maybe?"

Her stride pauses. "If you're that worried, you call him."

The snark is unexpected... and a little infuriating. What the hell is wrong with this woman? Play nice? Like that was even possible. "If you don't tell me what the hell is going on, I'm going to make sure that you miss your flight. And every other one for the rest of the day."

She freezes, every line of her upright and tensed. Some of her anger lingers, but more than that it's surprise. All four of the wheels on her suitcase meet the floor as she takes an involuntary step back.

She's so beautiful, and he finds it hard to swallow suddenly. He doesn't know why it never occurred to him before now, but she's gorgeous. And out of her mind, he reminds himself quickly.

"Are you threatening me?" she manages, incredulous. It comforts him a little that no matter how much of a jerk he's been, she hadn't expected him to give her an ultimatum.

He nods.

Strangely this makes her relax, something light coming back into her eyes. Is she…amused? Happy? Curious? He doesn't understand. "Why?" she asks normally.

He can only shrug. He has no idea. "I don't know. My partner seems to think you could use some help. I am your lawyer – well, your mother's lawyer."

She nods, slowly. "I got a lead," she offers.

The sound of it makes his arm drop from where his fingers were latched onto the frame. She says it like it's a good thing. "A lead."

"One of my mother's friends was on the same flight as him from Houston. He's back in New York."

He shakes his head. "But that doesn't make any sense, why would he go back? Your mother is there. Her friends, everyone who was at the wedding is there. You could find him in a couple of days, max. That's not a way to hide."

She frowns slightly at his vehemence. "I don't know, okay. Maybe he forgot something. All I know is that I need to get on that plane."

"Listen, he didn't even make it past the airport before someone made him. I wouldn't be surprised if he was already on another flight."

"You think New York was just a stop over?" she asks, focusing on him as more than an obstacle for the first time since he got through the door.

"I don't know," he admits. "I can call Detective Esposito and give him the new information. He'll look into it and then contact you when he's got something."

She stares at him flatly. "That's not going to happen. If I start something, I see it through. I'm getting on that plane and I'll go and see this Detective myself."

"Why? He might not even be in the city, and if he is, you arriving the day after him is just going to tip your hand and he'll disappear again."

She stays silent, processing it. He hopes she's reconsidering. He thinks there's a faint margin in her brow now that wasn't there before, some of the determination bleeding into doubt. It doesn't last long and he can see the fire building again.

"I don't have any choice."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, my mother is out of town. You think it's a coincidence he came back while she's on tour? She's changed her accounts, but they're still married- who knows what he can access."

"Shit," he sighs.

"I have to make that flight. I appreciate your concerns, and I'll take it under advisement, but I don't have a choice."

She's not going for it.

"That's it," he growled.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm coming with you."

"What?!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Happy New Year from New Zealand.**

* * *

The ride is silent.

Richard Beckett had simply shrugged off her questions, taken the handle of her suitcase and wheeled it out to a waiting town car. He claimed if she was so certain she was going to find her stepfather, he might as well tag along so he could start the legal process straight away.

Once inside the black sedan and sharing the back seat with him she thought she'd ask him exactly what he meant by that but she finds she's too caught up trying to figure him out. He's still a little disconnected, but it feels different. Today he seems in the future, his mind working, planning, scarcely concerned with the present whereas yesterday he was concentrated on their interview. The focus had unnerved her. The impersonal, assuming man seemed gone too – not that she was taking that as a given. He had just invited himself to New York. That was a pretty glaring assumption.

Katherine Rodgers was pretty good at reading people and she didn't think he was lying to her, but there was something else. Of all the lawyers she had dealt with she couldn't see any of them dropping everything and flying across the country without a case. And Richard Beckett didn't have a case, not really. That's what he had been telling her from the outset. At the moment it was a police matter.

The car comes to a halt outside a moderate high rise.

"Stay in the car," he mutters, but she's already opening her door and stepping out onto the pavement. A few people are on the smooth walkway, but none stop to look at her. She hears his door shut and he's striding around the back of the car, his face set in what she assumes is his 'not amused' expression. At least it's an improvement over his lawyers' mask.

"Your place?" she asks, refusing to react.

His jaw starts working. "Yeah," he replies shortly, heading in with a terse smile for the doorman.

The lobby is decorated standard modern – a little ignorant considering the interesting lines of a much older style. It looks like it was redone fairly recently, the older architecture like bones holding the modern additions together. They must have restored the marble floors though rather than replacing them because they are genuinely gorgeous. There are even bronze caps to compliment the heavy double doors out onto the street. She takes a second to admire them as he stabs at the elevator button. At least they kept the flooring.

"You're going to have to rebook your flight."

"Why?" she turns to him, interested despite herself. "How long does it take you to pack a bag?"

"It's not me I'm worried about," he mutters, scowling up at the top of the elevator doors just as the chime sounds. She wonders if her getting out of the car is so bad that she's managed to piss him off. The door slides open and he gestures ahead of him, manners she hadn't thought to expect from him.

Katherine doubts it's about his apartment. Considering the Armani blazer and the apartment building thus far, the apartment is hardly going to be a hovel. She studies him on the short trip. He's taller than her – even in her heels. It's more common here in LA with all the actors and models, but he's a lot heavier than the models she sees around. He lost his tie in the car and it's stuffed rather carelessly into his jacket pocket, like a tongue drolly leering at everyone he walks past. He's rolling his shoulders, first the left and then the right, almost like a boxer warming up then he's shrugging the jacket of his shoulders, pulling his shirt tight across his chest.

She blinks at the stronger waft of musk and at the realisation what was just natural largeness of stature was really muscle. When he frowned the lines on his face were deep, but now between this fit image and his restless energy she wondered if he was even younger than she first thought, maybe only slightly older than she herself.

On the fifth floor he propels her out, one hand in his pocket and pulling out his key. She follows him up the hall, curious despite herself as he swiftly opens the door and steps inside. As she thought, the space was clean and quietly luxurious. Homey even – more than she expected when she thinks of his cold office.

"You home already?" a warm voice calls out. She blinks.

"Yeah," he calls, dropping his keys just inside the door.

"You talked to her already?" The female voice wafts out on a chuckle. "I hope you were nice this time."

His jacket is flung over a chair just inside the door. "Thanks for the advice," he offers shortly. "But we need to talk."

"What's wrong?" the woman from his office wanders through from a side room, her feet bare and Kate can't help but blink. Oh, so they were _partners_. The warm brown features drop when they see Kate. "Is that?"

"Kate," she offers Lanie her hand for the second time in as many days.

"Lanie," the woman returns, eyes wide.

"She must like you," Richard grumbles to his partner and drops down onto a wide leather sofa.

"What's not to like?" Lanie murmurs, still awed. "What's she doing here?"

Kate looks at the lawyer but he ignores her and the question.

"Where's Alexis?" he asks.

Who's Alexis?

"In her room," Lanie looks between the two of them. "We were just reading. What's going on?"

"I'm going to need your help getting her ready. I need her bag packed in ten minutes. Make sure she's got monkey bunkey or this is going to be hell."

"What is going to -," she's interrupted mid-sentence by a flurry of feet.

From the conversation Kate had inferred a child, but the happy squeal of 'Daddy!' makes her stomach tremble. A girl, Alexis, flies down the hallway, her hair in fiery streamers behind her, still dressed in a private school uniform. She doesn't pause but runs straight for him and Kate watches as his hands unwaveringly find her waist, slowing her momentum and lifting until she's airborne. She squeals happily and a low laugh escapes him as he catches her and plants a raspberry on the side of her neck.

"Daddy!" she flails away from him, pushing against his chest with tiny thin arms. She's so small. Are all children that small? Sure she sees them in the theatres and in the shops, but they seemed bigger. Alexis' smile is arresting though and for a moment she gets caught up in it before she remembers she's in shock that this man has a child. Such a beautiful child.

"Hey, pumpkin," he sets her down and squats down to her level. Lanie is already moving to what Kate assumes is the little girl's room. "I've got a special surprise for you."

"What is it?" she bounces on the spot.

"You know that trip we're going on?"

She nods, eyes caught up in her father's face. She hasn't even realised Kate is here yet. There is something about the bounding energy and focus that reminds Kate for a second of a puppy, so full of anticipation and trust. Kate moves her wide eyes from the little girl to her father and feels hers grow wider at the open, soft look on his face. He looks like a completely different person.

She looks away and back to his daughter taking in the red hair and the brilliant blue eyes. Not Lanie's eyes- they were Richard's, but so much brighter. She looks so excited.

What is this talk of a trip? Is it some holiday trip they had planned? That would explain the distraction in the car; he was thinking of a way to tell this little girl that it was cancelled. Kate opens her mouth to protest but he's already talking.

"Something came up at work, and we get to leave _today_," he says each word of the last half slowly, with relish and wonder and Alexis' eyes grow huge.

"Today?" she whispers.

"Today," he nods, taking her tiny hands and most of her wrists as well into his huge hands. "Now. Lanie is already packing."

"What about school?" she asks obviously torn. "Lanie picked me up early."

"I already talked to your teacher and she says to have lots of fun. She wants you to build the best snowman you can and take a photo to show your class when you get back." He lies so convincingly Kate suddenly remembers he is a lawyer. A criminal lawyer. How could she forget that? He practically hit her over the head every chance he could.

"Is Lanie coming too?"

He shakes his head. "She has to work, sweetie," he smiles. "But my friend Katherine said she'd come with us."

Kate jumps as two sets of blue eyes swivel and fix on her. She feels rooted in place.

"Katherine?" Alexis tries.

"You can call me Kate," she offers, a little awkward, but apparently Alexis loves the nickname and she beams happily.

"I'm Alexis," she offers shyly, still smiling. Kate sees she's missing one of her teeth. It's absurdly adorable.

"Nice to meet you," she tells the little girl.

Alexis blushes. "You too."

"Okay we have to get you changed," Rick steals her attention away. "How fast do you think you can do it?"

"Faster than you," she shoots back, giggling.

"You wish," he retorts. "I can get changed in four minutes!"

"Well I can in three!" she scampers away as she disappears into her room.

Okay, what the hell was that?

* * *

She was being punked. Was that show still on? Maybe she had just slipped into an alternate universe. This morning she had woken up thinking she was going to be doing a few last scenes at work and then calling a detective from the NYPD to finally get the ball started on finding her step-father.

And yet here she was pushing her luggage trolley through LAX in the afternoon with her suitcase and an extra. A little redhead giggled her way through the terminal like a figurehead proudly, if a little precariously, perched on top of Kate's hard case suitcase. Trying to get the young girl with her shorter legs to walk with her pink hard case suitcase through the terminal would lose them their flight for sure; they were cutting it close as it was.

The arches of her feet were beginning to ache from the forced march so far.

Then there was the other extra she had picked up. A lawyer she thought after the call last night she was never going to deal with again was marching along at her side with his own hastily packed suitcase. He was driving one handed and talking quietly into his cell with the other to Lanie, organizing the clients and appointments he had for the rest of the week. He hadn't hit anyone yet but she was reluctant to accredit him with skilful driving or the people in their way that were smart enough not to stay there.

He was wearing his lawyer face again; the one she knew him by from the news, Richard Beckett, prosecutor. No one else seemed to want to get in his way but she wouldn't complain since at this rate they would get to the gate with enough time to spare for her to catch a cup of coffee before they had to board – with the late entry into JFK scheduled for after 12 NY time, she was going to need it

"So, tell me about the wedding," he asks an hour into their flight once Alexis had conked out, Monkey Bunkey in her arms

The actress lifts her eyes from where they were focused on his daughter, slumped over on her shoulder. There's a surprised look in her eyes, almost as if she was shocked to find she was actually watching the girl who had fallen asleep on her. It was surprised, but tender, almost awed. Nothing like the actress who actually gave birth to his little red head.

"Wedding?" she asks.

"Your mother's," he prompts. "I read the New York Ledger's coverage, but I want some subjective data."

"You read the article? When?"

"About half an hour before I knocked on your door."

Her eyebrows rise.

"How many people were there? What were their relations to the groom? Who was part of the wedding party? Financials – who paid for the wedding? Was there a prenuptial? Who planned the honeymoon?"

He can see her counting up all the questions and forces himself to slow down. Unless she can upload all her information straight into his brain, he's going to have to do this question by question. There was no summary or case file for all the details he needs.

"Is any of this relevant, or do you just have a thing for weddings?" she asks. It would be sharp but there's a shadow of bewilderment that tips it towards ridiculous. With Alexis creating a small island of slobber on her expensive blouse the scales dip and a smile wins free.

"What can I say?" he smirks. "Some people love the institution, hate the day to day."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, in this case the institution hates my mother. Mitchell was her second husband."

"Did you know him at all?"

"No," she shakes her head then does an abrupt freeze when Alexis' head knocked against her collarbones. "Mom only met him a year ago while I was on tour. I saw him a few times after that but then I came to LA; I flew back for the wedding."

"I read there were quite a few friends of the groom in attendance," Rick notes.

She shrugs. "Some cousins, I think. Mother said he was an only child and his parents both died in a car accident about ten years ago."

He lets that sink in, wondering how he can get it verified; he doesn't really want to go digging around family genealogies – they're time consuming and boring, the exact reason he didn't become a cop.

"What are you thinking?" she asks.

"Just thinking about where we go to from here."

"You mean you packed up your daughter to fly me to New York and you don't even know where you're going?"

"We're going," he corrects her. "And yes, I do know where we're going. But that's not what I meant."

Her eyebrows raise, her unspoken cue to go on. He shrugs, not as surprised by her interest as he thought he would be. She has an intensity around her and an intelligence – nothing like the other women he has worked cases for.

"Why would he do it?" he explains. "We are operating on the assumption he married your mother in order to access her accounts. Once he rabbited, he must have known he was going to have to go underground. Why not just get a divorce and do it that way? Save himself the trouble of being a wanted man."

Not that he is, because it was never reported…bonehead move.

"It would take too much time?" Kate offers, her eyes narrowed speculatively –like she was trying to forget it was her mother they were talking about. "He wanted the money quickly, but a divorce takes time. An annulment wouldn't get him anything and even a quick divorce would get him half tops."

"He's had a year," he objects. "He has a perfect identity. Why give that up?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying he has some major kohones."

She looks away, an angry cast to her face though she looks a little amused all the same. It's a strangely compelling smile. "You'd have to ask my mother about that."

* * *

An hour out they hit turbulence. The hostess assures them it's just the plane disagreeing with the cold and snow sitting on New York like bird on a nest. Maybe it's the jostling or maybe it's the thought of Mitchell Achor's _kohones_ anywhere near her mother, but for the first time in years, Kate feels the first stirrings of air sickness. For the last twenty minutes she's been reclined with her arms banded around herself, weighing her stomach in place. The hum of the turbines actually comfort her, loud and undeniable proof they were still in the air when she can't bring it upon herself to look out into the night anymore.

She feels a tug on her sleeve.

"Kate."

She sighs and opens her eyes, trying not to let her nausea show through. When she warily takes her attention off her stomach, she finds blue eyes focused on her. Not the set she was expecting.

"Yes?"

"Is your tummy upset too?"

She smiles. "It doesn't stay still long enough for me to know," she offers the little girl. "Once it stops bouncing I'll let you know. How about yours?"

Alexis looks pale but nods enthusiastically. The exaggerated motion makes Kate's stomach quiver – if everything could just stop for a second she's sure she could beat this unusual feeling.

"That's just what my tummy's doing!" she whispers. "It feels like just my tummy is on a trampoline."

"Yeah?" Kate smiles at the image. "How high is it bouncing right now?"

"Not too high, the plane hasn't shaken for a while. That's why Daddy went to the toilet now. He tried to before and the lady told him to go back to his seat and use his seatbelt," the girl giggles and Kate registers that the seat on Alexis's other side was empty.

"When you've got to go…" she shrugs.

"You've got to go." The little girl beams, showcasing her toothless smile.

"Do you need to go?"

Alexis shakes her head. "No. I can wait till we get there. It's about an hour, right?"

"That's right," Kate nods, surprised at her awareness. "You're pretty smart. Did you look out the window at the stars or something?"

Alexis giggles. "No, I just looked at the computer. Daddy showed me how to use it ages ago so I can watch movies."

Kate risks squirming in her chair to face Alexis more fully. "Oh yeah? What are you watching today?"

"Fish," she declares. "There's a TV programme on here about Australia and they were talking about the Great Reef. There are so many types of fish there! It's so pretty and that's where Nemo is from."

"Nemo?" Kate smiles, enjoying Alexis's sharing. She knows about the Pixar film but is intrigued to hear how Alexis describes it. There's more than a spark of enthusiasm in her little face which makes Kate think here is a real fan.

"Nemo!" Alexis gapes, unable to fathom that Kate doesn't understand the concept.

"Nemo," Kate pretends to roll the word around on her tongue. "Sounds a little like anemone."

"Nemo isn't a plant!" Alexis objects horrified, catching Kate by surprise again. "He's a clown fish! Oh, but he _lives_ in an anemone."

"A fish huh?"

"A clown fish."

"I bet he knows some pretty funny jokes," Kate poses, setting the subject up. She watches the little girl's face shine as she leads Kate into the world of Finding Nemo, chatting away quietly pausing only when her father comes back. He looks bewildered at his daughter's boldness but happy too. He throws himself into their cross analysis of the movie, seeming to delight in making his daughter groan and squeal at his jokes and there's a light in his eyes that catches Kate's breath a little when she realises it's for her too.

They distract her until they prepare to land.

It's dark enough that without the floodlights at the airport she wouldn't even be able to see the drizzle of sleet, just feel it as it ferreted out all the spots left vulnerable to the air. Rick had picked Alexis, drowsy now they had landed, and slung her over his back. It must be something they did frequently because the little girl unconsciously tightened her arms around his neck. Then he had had left the two girls, taken the luggage and headed outside to wait in line for a taxi, promising to text her to bring them out when he neared the front of the line.

When huddled into the yellow car he focused on his cell, his thumb flicking out, managing the small buttons with dexterity she wouldn't have thought of him. He finally sighs and lets the device fall against his thigh, eyes closing and rubbing at them with his free hand. Before the cell light shuts off automatically she catches the thread of his text conversation. The angle makes it a little difficult, but she understands well enough.

Looks like he had a plan after all. Meet the detective.

"Where are we going?" she asks again.

"Almost there," he replies, opening his eyes and peering out into the night, looking for landmarks she assumes. She wouldn't know, all she can see is more houses. They're getting bigger thought – old brownstones mostly.

"That's not answering my question," she calls him out.

"You're right," he returns tiredly and for a second she sees the tired father from the plane ride under the tough lawyer. "We're going somewhere safe with clean beds where we can think about this mess and plan where we want to go with it."

She's surprised at his frankness. "Would an address have been too much to ask for?"

He actually smiles.


	11. Chapter 11

When Johanna wakes, she has goose bumps over her shoulder and starting down her back. The coverlet is tight across her chest though, being pulled from the other side of the bed.

"That's why I wanted the extra-large comforter," she mumbles, extracting a hand from the warmth so she can grab a handful of fabric and reclaim it. They don't have work today and she wants to sleep in- in the warm. Jim Beckett is such a blanket hog. You'd think body heat would be enough – she can feel his arm a warm weight on her stomach.

She blearily opens one eye when the covering resists her efforts. Is he lying on it or something? She blinks when she sees the reason for it all. It isn't her husband stealing the covers or using her stomach. Spread eagled over her is precisely half a human being. A diminutive human being.

It takes a few seconds for the sight to evoke a response. She registers it and comprehends it but her eyes stay on the tiny body and that's as far as she can muddle through it. She starts to feel a dampness on her skin from under the small rosebud mouth and it coincides with a sudden flair of happiness which almost chokes her. She wants to grab up the girl and cuddle her but carefully she snakes her arm over the child and taps Jim on the shoulder. He starts to roll back towards her and she braces her shoulder and arm to stop him. He's going to crush their visitor.

"Jim!" she hisses.

One blue eye fights its way open before the other. "What? Whad' I-," she can see the moment he realises, his eyes going from doped to wide and his sudden roll back, away from the head of orange hair and taking the weight off her arm. "Did Christmas come early?"

"Looks like," she hums back, lightly brushing back the silky orange bangs from the forehead pillowed on her chest. She was so beautiful- Skype didn't do her justice.

"Come on now Jo, you've got to do it right," her husband whispers, already reaching for the tiny little feet.

* * *

The piercing scream pulls on the string of her spine – arching and dragging her face from where it was buried in a pillow. Some primeval switch has already been flipped and her heart's racing, pulsing uncomfortably. Another scream.

'No! Stop!'

Kate's scrambling from the bed, has to catch herself on her hands when she can't get her leg free of the covers before she tries to take off. Kate knows that voice. Alexis.

There's a frantic rustling from next door and she's through the door and in front of the next in a near PB. The door is open and there's a couple in the bed. The woman is holding Alexis tight to her and an older man, bare as far as she can see is sliding his fingers under Alexis' pyjama shirt.

"Don't touch her!" she yells, half hanging on the door frame to stop her skidding past the door.

Everyone freezes and Alexis stops screaming.

Her little blue eyes open and she waves. "Kate!" she giggles.

No one moves. The staring standoff is making her eyes burn but she doesn't know what else to do. She can hear a scuffing trail of footsteps coming down the hall and she can barely breathe through the heart pulsing uncomfortably in her throat. What was taking him so long? Oh god, what was he going to do when he got here? _I thought he said this place was safe!_

Ok, plan. Need a plan…Beckett could watch them while she called the cops. Was it safe to leave him with these people…she doesn't know.

"Which spot did you go for?" comes a sleepy voice behind her. "Sounds way better than my favourite spot." Richard Beckett is shuffling down the short hall in boxers and white undershirt, rubbing at the side of his face. He gives her an absent nod and slides past her into the bedroom.

What is going on…he knows these people? He must know them. Last night he…had a key? She thinks he had a key.

"He went for my toes, Daddy!" Alexis bounces up from the bed and throws her arms around his neck. "Then my tummy!"

"Ah, tickle torture," Richard yawns. He goes to stand, letting Alexis dangle from him like a scarf and her feet lift the covers on the bed. The woman hurriedly pulls them back down and Kate isn't sure if she's blushing as much as this older woman, or more.

Richard catches the move too and chuckles. "No wonder you didn't hear us come in last night," he grins. "Come on Lexi, let's get dressed." He blows in her ear making her shriek happily again while, with one foot, he hooks up a nightgown Kate hadn't noticed at the foot of the bed and discretely fires it off at the older woman. It hits the head board and lands in the gap between pillows.

"I want to stay with Grandma and Grandpa," she objects.

Kate feels her blush deepen. This was not happening.

"Ah," Richard says craftily. "But if you don't let Grandma out of bed, how are you going to get pancakes for breakfast?"

"Pancakes?" her eyes light up.

"Berry pancakes," Richard's mother adds. Richard's _mother_. Oh, she is going to kill him.

"Berry pancakes," she crows, squirming. "Let me go, Daddy! I have to get dressed!"

He laughs and sets her down. She's scampering away and past Kate the second his hands are free. Almost as an afterthought she calls back a 'Good Morning, Kate!'

Silence rules in the bedroom for only a second before Rick shakes himself and follows his daughter's path to the door. "You'd swear I never feed her. I guess I better go and supervise," he smirks. "And I'll leave you two to it. Katherine?"

She blinks. "Yes?"

"Meet my parents. Johanna, Jim, this is Katherine Rodgers."

"How do you do?" she offers weakly.

They nod, the rest of them below their neck frozen.

Rick puts a hand on her shoulder and gives a slight push, getting her feet moving. "Shall we? Wouldn't want you to get cold." The warmth of his palm makes her take stock of the lacy camisole and boxers and she almost clips her elbow on the doorframe as she crosses her arms over her chest.

He's not even looking.

…


	12. Chapter 12

Kate takes her time getting ready, listening to the giggles and crashing from down the corridor. In the last five minutes she's heard Alexis turn down every clothing option her father has offered. She has to hand it to Alexis, she knows her style. She is completely within her rights to avoid bright green and pink together.

Of course, Kate's till wondering whether it's within her rights to kill the man for stashing her in his parent's house without telling her.

There's no mirror in the room where she can do her makeup and she's still too mortified to venture out and risk bathroom crowding so she just brushes her hair and rubs the sleep away from her face followed by a little moisturiser.

She feels supremely unprepared to leave the room – has had less stage fright before some of the biggest shows of her life. She doesn't meet anyone in the hall but she rounds the wall and finds the kitchen is already occupied.

Richard's mother, Johanna Beckett.

"Good Morning," she announces cautiously, stopping a safe distance away. The woman doesn't pause pouring water into the coffee machine, nor does she seem at all as tense as Kate feels right now.

"Good Morning." It's genuine and though the smile is a little embarrassed it's warm; there's a slight dimple and Kate can't take her eyes off it. The flesh around it moves and Kate realises too late to catch the first half of the sentence.

"I'm sorry?" she asks, blushing harder. She feels like a teenager again.

"Is pancakes alright with you?" Johanna asks again, kind enough to ignore the awkward moment.

"Yes," Kate blurts and the woman smiles. "Alexis thinks very highly of them."

Johanna actually laughs. "Alexis eats almost anything. I wish Rick was that easy when he was a boy."

"You mean he was as much trouble back then?" Kate asks before she can stop herself. She flinches internally as the words slip past – it's one thing to trash talk the guy in her head, but to his mother? Where has her control gone? It has to be his fault – going from ass to father like a fish on hook.

His mother's head falls back and her laughter reverberates around the room, releasing Kate from her state of nervous anticipation. It makes Kate smile breathlessly too, drawn in somehow by this woman.

"You have no idea," Johanna says, her voice a little throaty. "I remember when he was seven, he went for a week and the only thing he ate was Lucky Charms. We told him it would make him sick and we weren't going to buy them, but he used his pocket money."

She couldn't see him doing that. "And did he get sick?" As she asks a particularly loud squeal echoes out of the far bedroom followed by a barking laugh and she can actually picture him doing it after all.

"Very," she shook her head nostalgically, still smiling.

"What made him stop?"

"He ran out of pocket money," Johanna grins, turning away and beginning to fish ingredients out of her cupboards. Already a checked apron is around her waist, worn and it looks right on her – like they're old friends. Nothing like her mother when she was in the kitchen. Hurricane Martha. She wore an apron well but that was almost the limit of her culinary expertise.

Something about Johanna Beckett is earthy though; the warm laughter, warm eyes and dark tawny hair – almost the same shade as Kate's. Her movements flow with an understated grace, just like the crisp white shirt and jeans. There's an air of competence around her that's as enchanting as it is intimidating.

"Can I help?"

Johanna straightens up with a large mixing bowl cradled between her hands. "Oh no, it's okay, honey. You just stay there."

"Please," Kate steps into the kitchen, feeling as though she's just crossed a line somewhere and is holding her passport hoping for an entry visa. She didn't realise until she was in the space how very clearly this was Johanna's territory. "I like to cook," Kate adds, once again caught off guard by the desire to be approved of by this woman. She's just so very real, and that's the part Kate can't help respond to – to show she's real too.

Johanna turns away but before there's any rejection to it, she's turning back with a battered wooden spoon in hand. "You think you can do the berry coulis?"

Kate just nods, taking the spoon.

"There's a smaller bowl in the cupboard on the left."

Kate starts forward and Johanna laughs. "Sorry, I meant my left."

It makes Kate smile.

"Guess I'm not used to cooking with someone else," Johanna muses.

Kate fishes out a bowl and uses the bench space by the stools as her base camp. "I know what you mean," Kate offers, thinking of the way Martha would just watch and keep her company from the other side of the bar or just sweep in when everything was done and sing along to the radio as they plated up and again later as she did the dishes.

She hadn't been singing so much these days – not that she would know; when her mother needed her, she was on the other side of the country.

"Is everything alright?" Johanna's voice breaks in.

Kate clears her throat and nods. "Just wondering where your spices are."

It's fairly clear Johanna doesn't buy her excuse but answers anyway. "In the pantry, on your right."

"Great. I think some cinnamon and nutmeg is just what this is going to need."

* * *

Her hands shook. Literally shook. She almost dropped the bowl when the woman walked in and addressed herself. Johanna's not sure why she even cares at this point – there could be no way to turn things around after their introduction. The only reason Johanna made it out of the bedroom at all is the feeling that their guest was as mortified as they were. Her mother was brutal about drilling etiquette into her as a child; a proper hostess grins and bears it, no matter how uncomfortable the situation.

Somehow being walked in on by your favourite celebrity wasn't covered.

Covered. God. At least Katherine Rodgers, oh god Katherine _Rodgers_, was fully dressed. In a beautifully silky pyjama set, lacy but classy and understated. Even stars had to sleep in something.

Namely a bed in your house. Breathe.

"What time did you all get it last night?" she asks, pushing it all down and turning the oven on low to keep the pancakes warm.

"We got here this morning actually," Katherine offers. Johanna watches the actress frown a little in concentration as she taps out spices. She seems to be doing on instinct because she hasn't used any measuring device yet. "Our flight got in a little after 12, so we probably got here after half past one - we got pretty lucky with the traffic," she looks up abruptly. "I'm sorry, he never said it was your house. I just thought he had a friend…"

Johanna waves it off. "Richard can be surprisingly forgetful sometimes. Though lack of sleep might have had something to do with it in this instance."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Katherine mutters, stirring the mixture. Before Johanna can ask what that meant the actress looks up again. "Is something burning?"

"Burning?" she blinks. "Oh, crap!"

The pancake in the pan is full of bubbles, fluffy and cooked through enough to let air out. Johanna has the fish slice under it and airborne a second later, waiting anxiously for it to land again so she can study the extent of the damage. She feels the actress drift closer, curious and is happy to see the damage is minimal, the golden brown a more chocolate colour.

"Good save," Katherine congratulates her.

Johanna bristles a little at that, an involuntary reaction to criticism and looks up, annoyed. Once her gaze focuses on the actress though, it dissipates. There's a tense line to her shoulders that Johanna only recognises from dealing with people in awkward and stressful situations. Katherine hides it well, but Johanna can see the effort it is taking her to stand here and participate. Her comment wasn't designed to criticise or even to encourage a compliment of her own for catching the warning signs; it was just a well meant comment.

It was refreshing.

"Thanks."


	13. Chapter 13

**Standard Disclaimer. Thanks to all those who have left reviews. I'm glad to see everyone was happy to see Johanna. This may be an AU so you may have thought it was Rick's mum who died, but I'm still working on the idea of Kate's relationship with her mother responsible for who she is - rather than a party girl. There are lots of celebs out there who are normal...right?**

* * *

Johanna is pulling the tray of pancakes out of the oven when Jim joins them in the kitchen with Alexis. He can't help but notice how her jeans fit as she bends swiftly, still as flexible as someone much younger. The combination of shape and flexibility recall images of the night before and he can feel himself drifting away, a happy smile pulling on his face. God, he was a lucky bastard.

Katherine Rodgers is in the seat next to his wife's traditional chair, so he boosts Alexis up to sit next to him on the other side of the table.

"Morning," Katherine smiles at them, barely a flicker of hesitation in the gesture at all. He is tempted to put that down to superb acting skills, but the kitchen seems light. There's no cloud of tension like he expected and Jo seems at ease. He smiles back.

"Morning Kate," Alexis beams.

"You ready for your pancakes, Miss?" Jo offers her granddaughter a plate, balancing it on the very tips of her long fingers like a waitress in a five star restaurant. He can't help but admire the slender lines at the same time he watches how she acts, playing it up for her granddaughter. He had forgotten just how much he loved watching her with kids.

"Pancakes!" she crows.

"Hey, hey, hey. Did you leave any for me?" Jim watches his son swoop down on the breakfast table, hovering over Alexis' shoulder. He takes her fork and uses it to lift up the small pancakes on her plate one at a time. "One, two, three. Dad did you give Alexis my pancakes?"

"No," she snatches the fork back and pulls the plate towards her protectively. "These are mine."

Richard takes the back of Alexis's chair and spins it so they're face to face. He stoops and shakes a fist in her face. Jim can feel his smile fall, shock at the action nauseating for a second but Alexis shows no fear and it helps him breathe. Jo is frozen at his shoulder, his plate held hostage in her hand, halfway to the table.

"You see this?" Richard asks, looking at his fist. "This is how big my tummy is." He takes her hand and curls it gently into a matching fist. "Yours is only this big, so there's no way you need all those pancakes. Grandpa must have given you my plate by accident."

"That's cheating, Daddy," Alexis scolds him. "If you want breakfast, Grandma left yours in the oven."

He straightens immediately. "So that's where she hid them."

"She didn't hide them, Daddy," Alexis sounds resigned, sitting back to the table. She uses her fork to cut off another mouthful of pancake and mutters to herself, "And there's no way your stomach is only that big."

Jim coughs out a laugh at his granddaughter's comment and watches his wife hide her smile behind her hand as she slides into her seat across the table. Their guest looks a little bemused.

"He's actually telling the truth sweetheart," Jim tells the seven year old.

"About what?" Alexis replies, clearly more focused on severing her pancakes and coating them in berry sauce than she is in his attempts to defend his son's honour. Not that he blames her – his wife's pancakes were fluffy and golden examples of breakfast food whenever she made them, and the berry sauce was different to usual; a little surprising tickle on the taste buds of an unexpected flavour. It must be Katherine's doing.

He had Katherine _Rodgers_ in his kitchen. The only thing that surprised him more was the lack of fan girl flails from his wife. Then again, the young actress wasn't as overwhelmingly _famous_ as he thought she would be. Not a single drama queen air yet – aside from her attempts to 'save' Alexis this morning.

He glanced over at the young woman and saw she had a pleased smile on her face as she watched Alexis chase her sauce around the edges of her plate with her fork.

"Ask Katherine," he smiles over at the young woman and she jumps; nothing like the fierce stranger who had burst in on their morning and demanded they unhand their granddaughter. Where was the actor exuberance?

Alexis looks up, chewing her mouthful before speaking. "Was Daddy telling the truth, Kate?" Alexis sounds sceptical. She sounds so much older than seven and her worldly tone is almost comical coming from the small berry-stained mouth devoid of one of its front teeth.

"Hey!" Richard joins the table. His pancakes are almost hidden under coulis and Jim smiles to see it. His son may be the father of an adorable little girl, but Jim is happy to see little parts of his son that haven't changed- that have come out stronger to play with his daughter. He had worried his son would set sucked under working as a high stake criminal lawyer, the way he had here in New York as a state prosecutor so many years ago. Apparently he still loved his coulis and pancakes.

"Your tummy _is_ the size of your fist," Kate explains, recapturing Jim's attention. "But your Dad didn't tell you that if you put a lot of food in it, it can stretch a little. That's how you can fit in more pancakes."

Alexis is staring at her intently and sets down her fork so she can clench her pale little hands into fists. "But it's supposed to be like your hand," Alexis sounds interested. "Where did you learn that?"

"At school. You can learn all sorts of things in science."

"What sort of things?" Alexis' attention is devoted on the actress sitting at the table.

Kate shrugs and Jim fears for a moment she was going to fob Alexis off, treat her like a child, but instead she answers succinctly. "All about plants and animals. And about people too. You know, how our bodies work and grow."

The young red head's eyes shine. "That's science? Why aren't I learning science?"

"You learn it later," Jim stepped in, pleased. "When everyone in your class can read."

Alexis pouts at this – exactly the same way her father does.

"Tell me something else," she begs.

"Your pancakes are getting cold," Jim chuckles.

"Grandpa," she moans. "Kate, tell me something else from science."

The actress blinks but answers readily enough. "Uh, the body has 206 bones."

"Your body?" Alexis asks, eyes wide. Across the table, he can see his wife smiling, watching the interaction with merry eyes. Richard too seems to be smirking between bites of his breakfast.

"Yeah," Kate nods. "Well, yours too."

"But you're so much bigger than me," Alexis' mouth hasn't quite managed to close yet.

"Everyone has 206 bones, sweetie," Jo tells the stunned girl.

"Then how come you're so tall?"

"High heels," Jo admits blandly and he can't help but laugh.

"Gram! Come on, Kate. It's gotta be science, so you know the answer, right?"

All three adults focus on her and she actually blushes under the attention. Jim smiles. Her mouth works for a second and she clears her throat.

"As you get older, your bones get bigger. It's almost like they stretch," she moves her hands slowly apart, gesturing. "But they get thicker at the same time so that they're strong enough to support our muscle and stuff."

"I reckon your bones must have grown at least two inches since Grandpa and Grandma saw you last, pumpkin," Rick joins in. "Must be all that ice cream."

"You told me milk makes your bones stronger, not longer, Daddy," she shakes her head at him.

"You sure about that?" he says with a stern look.

Alexis flicks her eyes to Kate and then to Jim and Johanna. Jim winks and the uncertain set of her shoulders straighten and she sounds perfectly confident when she confirms it.

His son sticks out his tongue. "It does both."

"Just how much ice cream are we talking about here?" Johanna asks archly and Rick winces, hurriedly collecting his plate and rising from the table. It's the same look she gives him when she's been away and manages to find evidence of fast food or the boxes from microwavable meals.

"Richard," she says warningly.

"Milk is an important part of the food pyramid," he defends himself. "I'm sure you don't want a midget for a granddaughter." The buzzer from the door man goes and Richard strides away to answer it.

"Midget," Johanna scoffs.

"What's a midget?" Alexis asks.

"That," a low voice greets. "Would be another word for a dwarf."

"Uncle Tio!" Alexis shrieks, throwing her fork down and catapulting herself at the detective.

The young detective dodges her with a grin, indulging her in a short chase before he lets himself be plastered. When the momentum of her finally colliding hits, surprise flickers over his face and he falls. Jim can see it's a controlled descent and can hear Alexis laughing all the way down.

Esposito lands hard on his butt and Jim chuckles as Alexis monopolises the opportunity to wrap her limbs as far as they can go around the detective's waist.

"Breathe Lex. I need to breathe," Esposito wraps his arms around her and shaking her from side to side. Her giggles are barely audible she's buried so far into his jacket. There must be a shortage of air under there because she removes her face with a huge theatrical gasp like she's just surfaced from the deep sea.

"Hi," she smiles.

"Hey," he grins. "You your Dad's new guard dog?"

Alexis grins and makes her best growling noise. Jim can't help but think it sounds a bit like a puppy playing with a chew toy and hears his family still at the table chuckle.

"Detective," Johanna calls. "There's a pancake here for you if you can detach your limpet."

The man's eyes light up. "Johanna, you can't go saying things like that to a man. I'm trying to watch my figure."

He and his wife scoff.

"So do an extra set or two with your dumbbells," Jim teases.

"And you look half-dead on your feet," Johanna chides. "Eat before Alexis knocks you on your butt again."

The detective looks appropriately ashamed and stands, child and all and wades his way over to the table. "Make sure you don't go spreading that around," he warns. "Or the next time Rick comes into the station everyone will be jumpy looking for his kickass pet."

"I am kickass," Alexis giggles.

"Of course," Esposito accepts the plate. "Wouldn't expect anything else from my _sobrina_. You going to introduce me to your friend, Lex?"

Lex slides down his side and skips around to her chair. "That's Kate," she says offhandedly as she boosts herself back into the chair and reclaims her half eaten breakfast. "Dad brought her home yesterday."

Esposito and Kate both choke on their mouthfuls of pancake. His son is biting his lip to hold back a shout of laughter until he masks it behind one hand, trying to force his face into something thoughtful in case his daughter looks at him. The end result is a pained grimace that goes to waste since Alexis is far more absorbed by her uncle's coughing fit.

She looks truly concerned and offers him her orange juice which he takes and hesitantly swallows down in gulps to calm his irritated throat.

"Kate, this is Detective Esposito," Johanna tells their guest over the last of his splutters. "We've had a couple of cases with him and he won't leave us alone."

Esposito squints his eyes at her from over the rim of Alexis' glass.

"It's because you keep feeding him, Jo," Jim tells her, smirking at the detective. "He's hooked for life. I should know."

Johanna looks at the younger man coyly and he restrains a chuckle. "I just think he likes us."

"I can understand that," Kate inserts having recovered. "These pancakes are amazing."

"Right!" the detective exclaims roughly placing the empty glass back on the table.

"You're right," Jo sighs to Jim. "He's just after the food."

"They're good," Alexis pushes her plate away. "But my tummy doesn't stretch that much. Tio, did you know your tummy is as big as your fist?"

"Yup," Esposito grins. "You know what else is the size of your fist? Your heart."

"No way," she breathes and turns to looks at the assembled adults.

"Way," Rick nods.

"Cool."

"Hey pumpkin, is it okay if I talk to Tio Javi about work for a few minutes?"

She nods. "I'll watch TV," she turns to look at Jim. "Can I watch your TV?"

He smiles at his granddaughter and lifts her from her seat. "Course you can, sweetheart. I'll come and get it set up for you."

"Good, because I've a got a couple of questions for him too," Espo mutters.

* * *

**I like pancakes with berries, what can I say?**


	14. Chapter 14

_"Hey pumpkin, is it okay if I talk to Tio Javi about work for a few minutes?"_

_She nods. "I'll watch TV," she turns to look at Jim. "Can I watch your TV?"_

_He smiles at his granddaughter and lifts her from her seat. "Course you can, sweetheart. I'll come and get it set up for you."_

_"Good, because I've a got a couple of questions for him too," Espo mutters._

* * *

"A bit out of your league, aren't you Bro?"

Rick sneers at the detective. "Ha ha."

"Now, Javi, you can't blame a seven year old for not understanding every idiom in the English language," Johanna sighs, sliding back from the table to reach the coffee pot. "Refill anyone?"

"Please," Kate asks gratefully. Especially if today was going to be one of those days…

"You know, he did promise to set me up with you in return for doing some checking up on a guy." Espo shoots a gleeful look out of the side of his eye at his friend and Kate feels her eyebrows rising. Is Rick actually blushing? She's doesn't know him well enough to know but Johanna is smirking.

"He did, did he?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Esposito accepts his full mug.

"He obviously places a lot of confidence in your services to make that sort of promise," Kate offers careful to keep her tone even and her eyes on the lawyer. If there was to be any flush, she was going to see it. Sure enough he shifts his weight uncomfortably and internally she grins. Why the pleasure in watching him squirm, she wonders. Maybe it's nice to see him flappable.

It must be his mother's presence that does it.

"I can assure you I _service_ with pleasure," the detective leers, but it is directed at his friend. There's no doubt now he's blushing. Esposito is still winking at him when the detective catches Johanna's eye and his spine straightens. "New York," he qualifies. "I serve New York with pleasure."

Kate hides her smirk in her mug. "Sure you do," she mutters and all three heads swivel to her.

Richard clears his throat. "About that service?"

"Interesting business," Esposito nods, spearing another bite of pancake. "I pull up the financials of a boring ass trust fund leech and an hour later after finding nothing I ask myself, what the hell am I doing?"

"And that's interesting?"

He snorts. "No. What's interesting is I ran his name through our database."

"I told you I got someone to do that already," Rick interjects.

"Yeah, but you were too busy to tell me why I'm looking into a dude with a record of one speeding ticket. Then I Google a little and find he recently married Martha Rodgers." He turns to face her. "That was a nice dress you were wearing," he adds.

"Thanks," she replies dryly.

He shrugs. "I try. So. You want to tell me what is going on?"

Rick shrugs and looks to her. Her problem. Her choice – that's what his eyes seems to be telling her. Like she had any choice after he loaded her and his daughter onto a plane and flew them back here so he could overlook the case.

She huffs out a breath and takes a second to collect her thoughts as she watches the creamy brown inside of her cup. It's hard to bottle down the resentment and it makes her mad to know that the little voice inside her head, while righteous, is in fact, right. She needs to share. And she knows why she's feeling resentful. And she hates it just a little bit more that she's had enough therapy to know this.

Kate looks up at the shuffling sound on the kitchen tile and sees Richard's father has made it back into the kitchen and is watching them all with interest. And they are watching her. She blinks at her audience, surprised she's let it go so far. How could she have been stupid enough to let Richard and his detective bandy the subject around so casually in front of his mother?

Not that Kate thinks she would tell anyone, but still, it is a private matter.

"Is there somewhere quiet we could discuss it?" she suggests gingerly, not wanting to offend the couple who unknowingly gave her shelter last night.

"Quiet?" Esposito repeats, perplexed.

Richard looks at her for just a second and leans back comfortably in his chair "You don't have to worry about talking about your mother's case in front of my parents."

Esposito nods. "Where do you think Ricky here learnt everything? You are in the presence of Beckett Ltd. – the most annoying pair of lawyers ever to go into business."

Kate watches the two older adults gasp in unison. "Hey!" they protest.

"What? It's true. You were always sticking your noses into everything. You were worse that investigative reporters," Esposito gives an exaggerated shudder.

"It's not our fault that half of the detectives we got saddled with couldn't detect their way out of a plastic bag," Johanna dissents. "We had to make sure the people we were fighting to keep out of prison were actually innocent."

"Exactly why no one wanted to work with you two; you tore the case apart!"

"But we never lost one," Jim looks proud. The way he looks at his wife and how their eyes meet, sure that the other one would be there waiting, catches with her. It's a strange feeling in the top of her chest. It's almost like envy, but she's happy.

"Still nosy," Esposito gripes.

"What they mean to say," Rick smiles evilly at his parents. "Is that you might actually benefit from their input. Three Becketts for the price of one."

Kate looked between them, almost able to see the bond palpable between them. It wasn't really a question of whether she was going to tell them anymore, they would find out anyway, it was trying to imagine that she had a place in their ranks. At first glance, it was impossible for Kate to imagine these two kind open people as lawyers of the same calibre as their son. It was comforting almost, knowing these people influenced a man who had at first seemed so disconnected and arrogant.

As renowned lawyers in their own right, Kate felt ridiculously out of place. She was well aware she was nothing special. She didn't have any credentials or the faintest idea how things worked in their circles other than what she had sponged off TV, but this was her mother. She wasn't sure she could just hand everything over like that.

Mistaking her hesitation, Johanna discretely takes her hand in one of her own. "You don't have to tell us," the older woman smiles.

But Kate shakes her head quickly. "No," she finds herself reassuring the other woman. "As Richard already mentioned, this is my mother's case, not mine. If she was here, I'm sure she would share." She flickers a glance up to Rick thinking maybe this time she would see approval in his eyes as she took his advice. "And three heads are better than one."

"Four heads," Esposito smiles at her.

"Five heads," Rick disagrees meeting her eyes. "It's your Mom, right?"

The relief stops up her words so she settles for nodding. Johanna squeezes her hand again and Kate can't help but squeeze back, amazed at how good it felt to rely on someone. From there it's almost cathartic to share.

* * *

"Hey, babe," Kate can practically feel his grin radiating through the receiver. It's been so long since she's seen him she's starting to forget what that expression looks like. "How is the shooting going?"

"Good," she actually manages a smile. The last weeks in LA had been nice; shooting pickups was like constant nostalgia. The cast and crew. The horrible sets all mashed up to take just what they needed. Mostly thought it was the story, the new scripts which gave her a little more of her character. It was the much needed pick me up after all the crazy in her life.

"You must be finishing up pretty soon," Josh notes. "Have you thought about accepting any of the offers here? I was reading one of the scripts they sent you and one, I can't remember what it's called, but it had a war time theme…It was good. They want you to be kick ass."

"We all know how much I like kicking ass."

"That's my girl."

"If I was as kickass as you're fantasizing about right now, I would have major issues with being labelled your girl. But that's beside the point because I am back in New York."

"What? Now?"

"Yes, now."

His smile is almost audible again. "That's great."

Kate thinks of the detective she'd had breakfast with and the trust she had in him already when he left to check in with the airport security to verify her stepfather's return to the city and nodded, feeling lighter than she had in months. "Yeah," she agrees softly. "It is."

She had been expecting a stout older man with eyebrows as big as his moustache and a couple of spare tires around his waist. Come to think of it, that was fairly close to what she had expected when Ryan told her about Richard Beckett. She had seen the lawyer in her mind as slightly less overweight but crankier than her mental detective. It must just be a thing she had with law enforcement.

There was an energy about Esposito that made it hard not to like him. And after watching the way he was a part of the Beckett family, it was impossible not to trust them, the way she realised she did every other person who had been at the breakfast table that morning.

There was something different in Richard as well. It was hard to put her finger on it, but she found herself starting to trust him as well. Not just to know the law but to know what she wanted as well.

"When did you get in?"

She blinks and the memory of her impromptu science lesson this morning falls away. "The flight got in just after 12."

"You should have told me. I would have come and got you."

"I didn't want to mess up your sleep schedule. You on shift?"

"Yeah," he sighs. "I got called in pretty early this morning but it's calmed down a lot. I'm just writing up my notes so I can get out of here at a decent time. I'll swing by and see you after that."

"About that," she hums. "I'm not at my place at the moment. I was kind of hoping I could come and stay with you."

"Sure, you know you don't have to ask" he agrees. "You've still got your key, right?"

"Yeah, and thanks. I promise I'll cook you something to make it up to you."

"You're rewarding me for getting to spend time with my girlfriend?" he chuckles. "My hot, super smart kickass girlfriend who I have _really _missed the last week? And the two weeks before that all alone in my hotel room?"

She sticks out her tongue because she knows he can't see. "Well when you put it like that, no. Stick to cafeteria food."

"LA changed you," he returns.

She hears the sound of his pager going off. "You've got to go?"

"Yeah they need me for an emergency. I'll see you tonight okay?"

"I'll be there."

She looks up as the call goes dead and sees Rick leaning against his door frame. She's surprised she's not more surprised. This family seems to be lenient when it comes to boundaries and personal space and yet while annoying and nosy coming from him, on a family level it's a little enchanting, the closeness and the love. It makes it hard to remember the jackass she had walked to for help.

"Hey," he offers.

"Hi."

"I'm sorry you can't go back to your place."

"It's fine," she reassures him, dropping her phone on to the covers. "I think it's overkill, but it's okay. I want him caught and if your friend thinks he's watching for me to get back then I'll fly under the radar."

He pushes into the room a little, looking around at the decorations. She hasn't really given a thought to them but there's a definite masculine touch to it. She follows his eye to a glass covered frame and realises it's a law degree – his law degree. So it was his bed she had usurped in the night. "You can stay here if you want, at least until we hear back from TSA to see if your step father is still in the city."

She thinks of his height and the comfortable leather lounge suite which would have been at least a foot too short for him to sleep on and smiles gratefully. "Thanks, but I've made arrangements. I don't know how long this is going to take."

"Your boyfriend?" he surmises.

"Yeah."

He nods. "Well, before you head out we were wondering if you wanted to come and choose our Christmas tree. Alexis is dying to decorate and has a very specific tree in mind so I thought we better go and find it before they're all gone."

"You have left it a little late," she admits.

"Well," an eyebrow quirks. "It's a little hard to pick the perfect tree when you're on the other side of the country."

She nods, conceding his point.

"Is that a yes?"

"That is a yes," she confirms. "I would like to see this tree Alexis wants to find."

* * *

Next door Jim fishes his jacket out of the closet and his good walking boots. Cutting down trees is a new phenomenon for him. When Richard was a kid they bought pre-cut trees, but last year Rick had suggested letting Alexis pick her own. However six places later with no luck, they had tried further out and hit gold.

The problem had been cutting it down. He felt old and he knew his son felt uncoordinated with the rough cuts and both of them slipping in the snow with their casual streets shoes.

This year they were going to be prepared even if they weren't the most experienced lumberjacks. Sure they chopped wood at the cabin in the summer and stockpiled it, but that was nothing like a vertical column of wet wood with a barbed fence of thick green branches. Just thinking about it was making him nervous.

On his way back to the lounge he sees the glare of the computer and pokes his nose into the study to see his wife staring at the screen, glasses perched on the end of her nose.

"Hey," he greets her. "I'm just about ready to go. You?"

She shrugs. "I'm waiting on an answer from Katherine. If she doesn't want to come, it's not like we can kick her out so I'll stay behind and be pleasantly surprised when you bring our tree home."

"How hard is it for you right now?" Jim stands behind his wife and runs his thumbs across her shoulders.

The set of her head doesn't move, her focus not budging from the laptops screen in front of her but he can feel the muscles shifting, melting. "How hard is what?" she asks.

He just shakes his head, marvelling at her ability to juggle stimuli. Most people so focused on one task wouldn't have even heard him, let alone form a coherent reply. "How can you ask that, Jo? You have one of your favourite actresses in your house."

"I know. I cooked with her," she sounds so matter of fact. She scrolls to another Tab on the browser.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm reading the Ledger's article."

"About the Rodgers' wedding?" He turns his attention from her to the page. The familiar format of the paper runs his eyes in columns but before he lets them take in any of the information Johanna is scrolling down the page.

She hums in agreement. "Rick wasn't kidding – they really went all out. Ledger claims a source ball parked it at almost two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

Jim chokes. "Two hundred and fifty thousand?"

"It looked nice," she shrugs. "Not two hundred and fifty thousand nice, but nice. I liked ours more."

He can't picture that sort of extravagance. "Any photos?"

"Not so many. I guess there's only so many you can fit into one article." She hit home and up near the top there was a photo of Martha and her groom. The actress looked happy, but then so did he – and they all knew how that turned out. Jim wishes he could look at the photo and appreciate it without the knowledge marring it.

"There's a group shot taken outside the church," Johanna adds. "Kate looked nice; she was the maid of honour."

"She seems nice," Jim hazards.

Johanna hums again. "Vast improvement on the last actress Rick brought home."

He blinks at her half-hearted approval. "That's all you have to say about her?" Where was the gushing, the squealing? She said it herself – they had cooked together, and Johanna never let anyone in her kitchen.

She huffs exasperatedly and turns away from the screen to glare at him.

"What?" he asks, bewildered.

"If you could shut up for a minute I'd be able to hear what they're saying," she grumbles.

Jim opened his mouth to reply to that but she clapped a warm hand over it. He frowned and went to pull away when he hears it – a muted cadence of sound. He can't make out the exact words, but the tone is clear; his son is trying to make peace.

"Wow," Jim smirks, taking her hand and kissing it. "You really want her to come don't you?"

Johanna turns back to stare fixedly at the computer again but she can't hide the red in her cheeks. "No," she insists. "I just wanted to make sure he's minding his manners. She's too nice a girl to deal with his cheek."

"Oh, I don't know. Give her some credit, Jo. I think she can take it as well as throw it out."

"That's not the point," she ignores him airily. "I raised him to be a gentleman."

Jim scoffs.

"I know," Jo sighs. "And you raised him to be a boy."

He almost chokes when he swears he hears her mutter 'mudslinging'. "I promise to stop him if he pulls on her hair or looks like he wants to push her into a snow bank."

His wife looks up over her shoulder, unimpressed and it just makes him grin more.

"That won't be necessary," their son pokes his head around the door. "Alexis has me well trained. Oh, and Katherine said she'll join us."

"See?" Jim grins. "Nothing to worry about."


	15. Chapter 15

**The next few chapters are christmasy...not intended to be a holiday fic but it kind of worked out that way. Sorry if it's too late.**

* * *

Her small cheeks are brilliantly pink, so flushed and her eyes so happy that she looks like an advertisement for Christmas cheer, still bundled in her jacket, hat and scarf; the gloves had been the first things to come off. Kate still remembers Richard's shriek when his daughter had pushed her cold little fingers underneath the back of his sweater. She looked so guileless about the whole thing, Kate wasn't sure if she had done it on purpose or if it was just a happy accident – and she thought she knew acting when she saw it.

He screams like a girl; something she would never have imagined back in his office but might have considered possible at the breakfast table or in the plane talking about _Finding Nemo_.

She watches them as he spins his daughter out of his coat, tickling, lifting. He's even singing along as he does it; Alexis helps him with the chorus and Kate smiles at how well their voices meld despite the breathless quality born of laughter.

"Christmas bells, those Christmas bells," Alexis sang.

"Ring up from the land," he croons, pulling of one small shoe. They look wet even from where she sits at the kitchen table. The snow out on the balcony must be turning slushy.

"Asking peace of all the world and good will to man," they finish, Rick dropping low and Alexis floating high. It draws his parents out of the small room just inside the corridor in time to join them as they enthusiastically emulate the wet 'pop'; Alexis pushes her finger against her cheek with obvious gusto – no doubt it's her favourite part of the song – and giggles so hard she misses the rest of the verse.

"She loves Snoopy," Johanna advises Kate quietly. "I don't think Rick has the heart to tell her it's not actually Snoopy and Woodstock out there tearing over Europe, taking out the bad guys."

"Why ruin it?" Kate smiles. In the lounge Rick is gathering up the scattered pieces of outdoor wear and dusking as Jim has hefted the small child up over his head and is spinning her complete with fighter plane noises. He sounds a bit like a very angry, sick cat – but the laughter coming from above almost drowns it out. "He's so good with her," Kate observes.

"Who? Jim?" Johanna asks.

"They both are."

"Jim's always loved kids."

Kate smiles at the woman, taking her eyes off the tug of war between father and son over the red head who was egging them on, "They're fun to watch."

Johanna arches an eyebrow and stares. "Is that so?"

Kate reviews for a second and flushes. "Not that I am," she stammers. "Not like that – not that your son isn't…I'm just…I have a boyfriend" she peters off as she watches his mother laugh in earnest.

"What are you laughing at?" Jim asks, relinquishing his granddaughter. She slithers down his body like a monkey and skips over to Johanna, face expectantly upturned.

"Nothing," she smiles. "I was just wondering how long it was going to take before those two gorillas let you change your socks then we can head out and find our tree."

"Today?" she asks breathlessly. "Really?"

Jim scoops her up and cuddles her into his side. "That's right. So what do you think, Lex; you want to come with us and start scouting out a few potentials?"

"Scout!"

"That's my girl," he chuckles. "And you know what type you want this year?"

"A big one!" she crows.

"A skinny one?" Johanna asks, stepping in to lean against her husband's free side and takes one small foot in her hand.

"No, a fat one! Like Santa."

"We want a crooked one this year, right pumpkin?" Richard prompts her.

"Yeah."

"Why a crooked one?" Kate asks, curious about how certain the child is that she wants what most would consider a deformed tree.

"We were reading a story at school," Alexis shares. "It was about this young pine tree. One day it met two doves who were really tired of flying against a strong wind, so they landed on the pine tree. It was really, really cold and they didn't have a nest, but the Mommy dove was going to lay her eggs soon if she could find somewhere safe and warm."

"I bet that would be hard to find in winter," Kate offers.

"That's what the pine tree said!" Alexis beams. "The pine tree felt sorry for them, so it said they could stay with him for the winter. He bent all his branches for them to keep the wind away," she gestures, curling in on herself like she was trying to shelter a candle in the cradle of her hands from a breeze. "He spent all winter bent over and kept the birds warm, but he was still growing and so when winter was over, he couldn't stand up straight anymore."

"So that's why he was crooked," she hums.

"Yeah, and because he was crooked, no one wanted to chop him down at Christmas, so he was there the next year for the birds and their children. So even though all his tree friends around him were gone, he wasn't lonely."

Kate feels the breath catch in her chest at the glow of joy in Alexis' face. Like she truly believes in Christmas magic. Kate realises that at seven years old, she probably does. All the world is good in her eyes.

"We'll have to keep our eyes out for one then, won't we?" Johanna murmurs, pulling the little girl into the circle of her arms.

"Yeah," she giggles, snuggling deeper into her Grandmother. "You can help too," Alexis offers Kate.

"Well," she clears her throat. "That sounds like an offer I can't refuse. I guess we better get going," She lifts her eyes to Alexis's father, leaning a hip on the side of the sofa still holding his daughter's outdoor gear like a hat stand. "Shall we, Mr Beckett?"

"Mr Beckett," Alexis giggles.

"Why of course, Ms Rodgers," he replies braking into a stiff, formal bow which dumps the mittens and scarf onto the floor complete with melting snow concealed within the jacket hood. He looks from the rapidly melting snow and the water to the crowd of his family. "I'll, uh, just clean that up."


	16. Chapter 16

**Just a small almost filler chapter to promise I am still writing and that I'll get there...eventually.**

* * *

Every seat in the car is taken. Kate can't remember the last time she's been packed together with so many people on a car trip, in fact, she's not sure she ever has. Richard's parents are up front and the other two Becketts are on the back. She feels like a child sitting with Alexis in the middle and Richard crammed awkwardly with his knees up around his elbows. It's so different from the confident lawyer or deliberate joking man she's used to it makes her think of a teenager, gangly and not yet grown into his own body. At any moment she thinks one of his parents might turn around and scold them all.

They don't even make it out of Brooklyn Heights before Richard fishes out a bag of Hershey's kisses and offers them around. Kate expects Jim just to take one or two but he shovels out a great handful and promptly unwraps a couple and feeds one to his wife and then the other to himself. Something about this established intimacy makes her mother's failed marriage seem more than a loss of money, and more about opportunities and companionship so she thinks of maybe having it herself with Josh. She didn't spend a lot of time with him, but what she did was happy. Watching the Becketts made her start to think, start to want things she didn't know she wanted.

She hides a smirk behind her hand and looks out the window when her mind creates the image of her and Josh road tripping out of the city to get a Christmas tree, scoffing down chocolates the whole way.

The bubble of happy talk never stops. They always have questions for each other. Most are for Alexis about her school and her friends and the little girl reciprocates in kind, asking about Jim's fishing and Johanna's reading. They all love books. Kate smiles.

At a set of red lights Rick tries to get his daughter to balance a red kiss on her nose like Rudolph and Kate laughs. Unlike back in LA, she's in no danger of being taken aback by the sound. Since coming back to the city and making a start she feels so light- like she's gotten some control back and is doing something for her mother. That it might actually work out; it was okay to drop her guard a little. She's also aware the lightness comes from the people in this car and their support. There's something about them.

Each person in this car has a sort of compulsion about them and Kate is fascinated. Jim is such a quiet, good man. Kate has to stop herself adding traits of his to her imaginary portrait of her own father. It's his eyes, she thinks. It doesn't seem to matter who he's looking at, his granddaughter or his friend the detective, there's affection and warmth like a woollen blanket.

She wants to take Alexis home with her. It's that simple. It's another thing she didn't know she wanted, but she does and she wants her own little girl just like this one badly. Smart and sassy and so bright and open…Kate allows herself to reach out and stroke the girl's hair beside her and tuck a long lock behind the small rounded ears. Alexis turns to her and beams.

"Hey Kate," she grins. "You want another chocolate? What colour?"

Kate feels her face stretching for a smile wider than she thought she ever had. "One of each," she replies, high fiving the little girl as a reward for her head banging rock on approval.

"We may have been watching Billy Idol on DVD," Rick chuckles, offering her the bag from the other side of the car and laughing along with the rest of the car when Alexis sticks out her chocolate covered tongue. "She's been using the sign ever since."

"I was dancing with mys-elf," Alexis tries to husk out.

The car dissolves into laughter, Alexis included until Kate feels her side start to hurt. She's usually no stranger to laughter, enjoying the pranks and high spirits of her colleagues, but this seems so much more honest and simple, funnier – laughing with family.

Johanna asks a tissue from her husband and Kate watches her dab at her eyes, presumably to keep her view of the road free and clear. The Beckett matriarch is a lovely woman and reminds Kate in some ways of the old movie stars Kate used to admire – possessed, sassy and beautiful – everything a woman aspired to be. Kate loved her own mother but there was something in Johanna that Kate felt within herself, a likeness that drew her closer and she knew it would take very little to go from admiring her to loving her. This whole family.

Even Rick. The first time she caught herself thinking Rick instead of Richard this morning had given her a hell of a shock, but it's stuck. He's so different away from his work, just as she is, Kate supposes. It seems impossible that he can be such a great lawyer and cold prosecutor and not be the same man at home – which he isn't. Not at all. He's a great father.

She pushes that thought away before her brain goes back to wanting a kid like Alexis. After they've passed through the city, past a few Xmas Tree signs, Kate speaks up.

"Where are we going?"

"New Jersey," Rick replies.

"Jersey?"

Jim turns in his seat to elaborate. "Griffin's Christmas Trees. We found it last year. It's a massive place and they have great variety. We saw some last year that were massive – we couldn't have strapped it to the roof let alone gotten it into the apartment."

"It's like the story," Alexis tells her. "There's lots of trees all waiting to go home with you. But I want a crooked one and I don't think anywhere else would have them already cut, coz no one wants them," by the end Alexis sounds a little sad.

"But we do, right?" Johanna reassures her.

"Yeah…"

"You don't sound too sure there, pumpkin," Rick observes. "You know you can choose any tree you want if it turns out you don't want a crooked one."

"No, I do," she protests. "It's just…what about the doves?"

"Lex," Jim says carefully. "I'm sure they'll be okay. There's lots of other trees they can build their nest in."

Kate can see the little girl isn't convinced. "I think if the tree were my friend and he had kept my family safe all this time I would be happy for him. He's been there for us this whole time but that means he can never do what he was born to do. He's a Christmas tree, right? He's been looking forward to it his whole life. I think I would be sad to say goodbye, but really happy the tree finally got his wish."

Alexis' face turns introspective and Kate looks up in time to see Jim's mouth snap shut and Johanna's eyes on her in the rear view mirror. So protective and, a little grateful?

"You think so?" Alexis asks quietly.

"I really do; doves are amazing birds. They're kind and magical."

"So they'll understand?"

Kate looks over at the girl's father who has kept suspiciously silent, allowing her to continue. "You are an amazing kid to take in a tree no one else wants and make it beautiful. Anyone will see that."

He takes his daughter's hand and squeezes. "You are amazing," he whispers and hauls him into her side. "And we are all going to find the best Christmas tree there is, you wait and see."


	17. Chapter 17

**Can I just say how bummed I am the ep. got rescheduled?**

* * *

Daddy told her not to but Alexis can't really help it anymore. She stamps her feet a little as she walks; when she does it's almost like she can feel her feet again for a second. First they were cold and then they tingled but now she can barely feel anything. He told her she's more likely to slip in the snow that way, but Alexis is more worried that not feeling anything is going to make her fall than a patch of funny ice.

They've been walking around for a long time now. At first the endless rows or trees were intimidating. They all looked the same so she never knew where they were going or if they were going in circles. If she got lost here, no one would ever find her. Just the thought makes her tummy feel funny. She squeezed her Dad's hand tighter and felt better. Maybe it was all the food she had eaten in the car.

Daddy must have worried she'd get lost too because he hadn't let go of her hand for a long time. After a while Grandpa had carried her around on his shoulders so she could see the tops of the trees and the smell of them made her forget how big the place was.

She liked the pine smell the best.

"You want a kiss, Lex?" Johanna asks, offering her another of the silver wrapped sweets. She takes it and tries to open it with her gloves on but she can't feel through the fabric and she tugs one off and unwraps it triumphantly. Her Grams offers one of the chocolates to Kate who has been walking with them while her Dad and Grandpa wandered on ahead.

Alexis works the chocolate around her mouth, trying not to chew and just let it melt but it sticks to the back of her teeth a little and she ends up squashing it with her tongue when she goes to push it off. She watches Kate unwrap her without having to take her gloves off and pop it into her mouth with a smile for her like they were sharing a secret. Everything Kate does seems smooth and Alexis smiles back.

Grandma holds her hand out for the rubbish which she puts into her pocket and then offers her hand. She yelps when Alexis lets her ungloved fingers find the bare skin above her Gram's gloves.

"Lex honey, your hands are freezing!" she exclaims.

"You should feel my feet," she grins.

Grams looks upset. "Oh honey, come on, let's take a break and warm those up before they fall off."

"No," Alexis shakes her head. "I want to find our tree!"

"I know you do. Your Dad and Grandpa will find the best ones and then you can choose the one we take home."

"It's hard to open Christmas presents without fingers," Kate hums.

"They wouldn't fall off." Alexis thinks about what Kate said this morning about learning about the human body in science and wonders if maybe they would fall off after all. Kate knew everything, just like Lanie and Gram. "Would they?"

Kate shares a look with her Gram and tilts her head, thinking. Alexis gets a sudden vision of having to let her Dad open all her presents and not giving them back.

"What do you think, Ms Beckett?"

Alexis looks to her Grams apprehensively and feels almost sick again when she sees how serious her face is. She only usually looks like that when someone's in trouble. Is that it? Is she in trouble? She feels her chin start to wobble.

"Gram?" she asks.

"I think she'll be alright," Grams smiles. "As long as we go and get them warm."

So that means they _could._ Alexis shivers and shoves her hands under her armpits, willing them to warm up.

"I saw a hot chocolate and coffee vendor," Kate offers. "I can take her if you want. I think my feet need little time out of the snow as well."

Alexis looks down to Kate's boots and sees they're dark like she's been splashing in puddles. She looks at her own small boots with their fluff collar and notes they don't look any different to usual and remembers her feet were cold but at least they weren't cold and wet like they were this morning when she played on the balcony in her sneakers. Kate's feet must be even worse than that!

"My winter boots are at my apartment," explains.

"I think you should be more worried about your toes than Alexis'," Gram tells Kate, looking a little angry. Not really angry, but more like she let something burn in her kitchen because she wasn't watching it.

Kate ducks her head. "Sorry."

Alexis feels her Gram's hand between her shoulder blades propelling her forwards. Beside her Kate looks surprised too at the boost. "Alright, off with the two of you. Go and warm those digits up before they go black. Kate, just text Richard when you're done and we'll let you know where we are."

"I don't know where we are," Alexis mumbles, looking out into the rows of trees. They look even longer than when she first arrived; at least at the start she could still see the start. "Do you?" she asks Kate.

"I've been making a map as we went along. It might take a while, but I'll get us there."

"And back?"

"And back," she confirms, offering her hand. Alexis grasps at it quickly, not caring if she looks like a little kid and feels better almost immediately. "Plus," Kate adds with a wink. "I have GPS on my phone."

Alexis giggles but feels even better.

* * *

There's no one waiting in line when they make it to the vendor and Kate is glad. All she wanted was to wrap her hands around a warm cup and a fresh pair of shoes and socks. Seeing as how the red on white signs only advertise for drinks, chicken tenders and steak, she'll forgo the footwear and settle for coffee.

She still hasn't put her gloves back on after trying to fish out change for their drinks and so the cardboard cup scalds her palms causing her to juggle it like a hot potato back onto the counter at the vendor. Alexis watches with wide eyes and looks distrustful of the cup the stall owner is offering her.

"It's okay, Alexis. It was just a little hot for my hands but it should be fine with gloves." She pulls her own back on and repossesses her cup. With the gloves on it feels like she's cradling a sun warmed stone in her palm rather than an ember. Beside her, Alexis accepts her cup and sets to work blowing on it.

They wander slowly away from the trailer, both more focused on the hot beverage than where they're headed. "How're those fingers feeling?" she asks.

"Warmer," the little girl beams. "How are your feet?"

What feet? Kate's tempted to answer. "I don't know. I don't think they sell coffee cups for feet so they're just going to have to deal with being cold."

"And wet?" Alexis asks, her little face scrunched in a mix of worry and disgust.

"Just a little," Kate admits, offering Alexis one hand so they can make it back. The truth is, she can barely feel her feet and for the last ten minutes has taken to looking at the ground to make sure her footing is sure rather than rely on what messages make it from the ground to her brain. The lack of circulation bothers her a little and so she sits them at a picnic table not far from the vendor so she can lift her feet out of the slush of ice for a moment and text Rick at the same time.

"There are a lot of trees here," Alexis pipes up, looking around. "And they all kind of look the same."

Kate hums, typing out the message. "Makes it hard to choose one."

"I want a pine. They smell the best."

"Oh yeah? Then how about we tell your family and we can meet them in the pine section for a last look? We should probably take them some coffee too, so they can feel their fingers when they cut the tree down."

"Yeah! Tell them we'll meet them on the hill."

Kate starts the message over again. "Why the hill? Did you see one you liked?"

She shakes her head. "They were too far away to see, even on Grandpa Jim's shoulders. But it's windy there right?"

"Yes," Kate admits.

"So the trees would bend in the wind and that's where we'll find a crooked Christmas tree – just like the story said."

"You know, that is a brilliant idea," Kate admits.

"Can we ride back on that?" Alexis shines under the praise and kicks her legs out happily on her seat. They had seen the ride on their way in and Kate was tempted to take the cart ride tour just to get her feet out of the snow.

Her brief sojourn here on the seats hadn't helped her feet at all though and the ride was truly beginning to look like a godsend if it could take them to the pines. It was just over an hour drive each way from the Beckett residence to this farm and if she wanted to keep her promise to Josh, time was getting on. It would be worth it to see Alexis' Christmas tree, but a selfish part of her mind wondered if she was going to be able to have her pie and eat it too. She was eager to see if some of the things she had seen between Rick's parents might work in her own.

She hops up and catches herself on the side of the table when one of her frozen feet slide. She's not even going to pretend she knows where she's putting them anymore. "Better go and get those coffees," she puffs. "Alexis, you go and get us seats."

"Yay," she crows, scampering across the thin blanket of snow. The endless cheer and energy reminds her of Christmas elves- it's no wonder they were so small; that's where they got all the energy! She shakes her head at the thought.

Must be losing blood to my brain, she chides herself. I've still got plenty of energy and Santa is. Not. Real. Need stronger coffee.

…


End file.
